Song of Darkness
by Ramzes
Summary: AU in which Rhaegar won at the Trident and the fate of Westeros changed. Now, Elia and Rhaegar have gone their separate ways and of course, there are those who want to use that to further their own ends. And of course, the distrust between the King of the Seven Kingdoms and the Princess of Dorne is a valuable asset to those who seek to destroy them. A sequel to Lady of Dorne.
1. The Portrait

**Song of Darkness**

The long hall, the two flight of stairs, and the heavy tapestries depicting various couples, not always of different sex, engaged in delightful and wicked activities, successfully muted the sounds coming from the common room. Many guests liked to hear the music as a background to their own pleasure but there were also those who rather preferred the silence, so the women had developed a way to change sounds in the blink of an eye: an additional tapestry over the door held in place by heavy rings that could be easily drawn up or down – a simple but effective trick.

The client currently occupying this most luxury room of the most sumptuous establishment of its kind in King's Landing belonged to the second type. It was his third visit here in a week and the second time running that he asked for her. She was becoming popular, although she was barely fourteen! And judging by his attire and his unwillingness to be seen, he might even be a real lord. Her breast swelled with pride.

"M'lord only needs to tell me what he needs," she purred.

He chuckled. "Take a few pillows and recline against them," he ordered. "Arrange the coverings around yourself."

Her eyes flickered at the portrait hanging at the wall on their left. It was a new addition, having come to them only a few weeks ago, and she delighted in the rumours she heard about it. Now she took the posture of the naked woman in it – a girl not much older than herself, lying amidst what looked like real rich furs in colours the girl had not even know existed in beasts. The jewels adorning her also looked real – sparkling red, nightly shade of blue, the green of the Kingswood she had seen once, the cold glitter of stars… Long lines of gems the young whore had not seen alternating with pearls shot through the girl's dark hair and disappeared against the black of one of the firs, right against the soft curve of her bent knees.

"Was she indeed a queen?" she asked and he chuckled again.

"She was. A queen and a whore. They are all like this there, you know. Prove that you're better than her," he challenged and she took it as a task that might bring her some additional coins.

She almost got him to acknowledge that no whore, a royal one or not, could not compare to her when the tapestries failed to completely drown the echo of booted feet. Before they could realize what was going on, the door flew wide open and they found themselves face to face with a dozen of gold cloaks.

* * *

><p>"Looks like we'll have to do the deed ourselves," the King noted sardonically. "Given the way the men ran away as soon as they got rid of the thing, the servants might drop dead once they reveal it, so it has to be us."<p>

The King's Hand sighed heavily. The gold cloaks' fear was not a good thing indeed. The painting was probably all it was reported to be and much worse. The men had certainly wrapped in in enough layers of cloth for a southern bird to survive a good hundred years on the Wall.

"I'll do it, Your Grace," he said and immediately proceeded to action.

The King's pale face told him that it was even worse than the worse he had expected. He made a step back and his jaw dropped at the unashamed sensuality – shamelessness – of the image captured on the wood panel. _At least the man isn't there_, he thought but it was a bleak comfort. For how long had this been displayed in that brothel frequented by highborn? How many people had seen it? Had they recognized her? With a pang of despair, Jon Arryn realized that he would have recognized her even without being told of her identity, so why wouldn't others know who she was at once?

"Your Grace," he started and fell silent because he didn't have anything to say. What did one say to a man who had found out that he had wed a... a woman like this? Jon knew he'd die, should Lysa's shame be exposed to the world like this. But this was… What would happen now? That would throw doubt over the royal succession. Seven hells, it might even lead to a war… if the King managed to keep it all political, which, where she was concerned, he hadn't managed until now.

"Oh stop with those sympathies already!"

Rhaegar Targaryen's voice was pulsing with anger. Finally, Jon looked at him and was met by eyes widened in fury.

"Certainly it happened before your wedding," he offered tentatively. "The Princess is all but a girl here…"

"Stop talking through your hat already, I said!" the King cut him off. "This isn't Elia."

_The Seven help us, he's as mad as Aerys! _"I- I don't see how such a thing is possible, Your Grace. I…"

"That's right," Rhaegar agreed icily. "_You_ don't see. For the Mother's sake, Jon, I lived with the woman! I know what she looks like unclothed." He jabbed the offensive panel with his index finger and glared at the woman in it who was not a woman at all, for all the carnality that she had let be depicted. "This isn't Elia, I assure you. The body isn't hers. Blood and doom, even the face isn't the same!"

He didn't need his Hand saying anything to know that he hadn't been believed. Indeed, the face was very much like Elia's, save the slight difference in the cheekbones and the heavier eyelids. The lips were also fuller. It didn't matter, of course. All those might be accepted as imperfections of the hand placing the oil on the panel. Rhaegar only had his instincts to tell him that the difference was more than superficial, a misfortune. The expression wasn't right. The feelings bringing life behind those black eyes – they weren't something that would show in Elia's face in this exact way. The woman simply wasn't his former wife, a girl or not. Although on the tapestry hanging in the wall – a _tapestry_? On the wall of a bloody _cave_? – displayed the cockatrice and serpent that were the sigil of House Gargalen which Elia's father was descended from. His eyes went to the voluptuous body. No, not Elia at all.

No chance at all to convince the world that it wasn't her either.

"Elia came to me a maid, I know that for sure," he said because it was the truth.

Silence.

"One day, they'll say my heir is a bastard," Rhaegar finally exploded. "That's what they will say, a bastard!"

"Why not?" Jon Arryn asked calmly. "It wasn't as if you helped him much with the way you treated his mother, the former Queen."

This time, it was the King who went silent with shock. But it was true, he had done everything in his power to undermine Elia's position once it became clear that she had wed Arthur Dayne, of all people. And carrying his child. The thought that she had given Arthur the daughter Rhaegar had been craving for didn't help him feel warmly toward her. But he had certainly never meant to imply that she had been anything but a faultless wife in their past.

Now, it turned out that his help might not be needed.

"I want to know where this foulness came from," he said, turning his back on the panel, and wished for it to disappear. "I want to find the one who brought it there. I want him questioned. Immediately! I will not suffer calumnies thrown in my children's way – or Elia's, for that matter! Someone painted this lie, invented this nonexisting woman just to taint the former Queen, my children's mother and I will not tolerate it. He will be punished most severely - indeed, I am starting to think that maiming Ser Ilyn wasn't as insane as I always thought it!"

She had an injured newborn to tend to. Rhaegar was quite surprised at how much this detail changed things, melting a good deal of his anger and making him feel protective toward her. No matter what else Elia was, she wasn't the creature they were trying to make her out to be.

Who were they? Who was standing behind this strike against Aegon? Because Rhaegar had no doubt that that was it – an attempt to undermine his first son's standing. And his own, of course. After all, if Elia had been a whore years before her marriage to him, what did that make him?


	2. Shimmering Sun and Rising Storms

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, it was very pleasing to know that people enjoyed Lady of Dorne so much and are interested in the sequel.**

Song of Darkness

_Shimmering Sun and Rising Storms_

Arthur heard the crying as soon as he turned the corner. The hall was a long one, yet the sound carried with no problem, making the handmaidens shake their heads sympathetically and everyone crossing the marble courtyard below look up, wondering what torment was being inflicted upon the babe.

Arthur pushed the door, to be met with a new flow of screaming. In the beginning, he had been scared that Carral might die of sheer suffocation since when he cried, there was little in him to pay attention to breathing. But other than becoming purple, the newborn seemed to handle both processes simultaneously quite fine. He had now added a third skill to the mix: writhing and trying to escape Maester Caleotte's firm grip as the old man patiently moved his injured arm this and that way, supposedly to limit the consequences of the damage caused by the harsh birth. The maesters claimed it was an incredible success that mother and children had made it out alive; looking at the sheer torment on his son's face, Arthur found it very difficult to think this way, no matter how hard he tried.

A dark-haired woman sat near the table Maester Caleotte was working on. For a moment, Arthur's heart leapt with joy before he realized that it was not Elia. In the shaded chamber her cousin Alynna looked almost as bad, though, painfully gaunt, her lips white and the exhausted lines around her eyes and mouth showing the torture of the sleep-deprived. Her husband stood behind her, both their eyes trained on the babe. In the far end of the room where the double cradle was set up, Myriah was sleeping as if nothing could disturb her at all. Sometimes, Arthur got scared that she had been born deaf.

Maester Caleotte gave him a passing look. "We're almost done, my lord," he said. "Maybe you'll wish to leave until it's over?"

"No, I won't," Arthur said briefly, recognizing the words as almost the same grooms told men who had their favourite steed being treated. He had never left a horse suffer on its own. If his mates in warring, jousting, and trying to catch the wind could go through it, then he could stay and watch, and try to calm them down.

Not that it would work with a human babe, of course. But fortunately, the old maester was true to his word and soon, the torture was over. The man left and Alynna immediately went to take Carral and try to soothe him.

"For how long have you been here?" he asked, just to make some conversation. Anything but listen to those anguished squeals.

His brother shrugged. "Why, I had to see the beauty and my little double," he replied. Indeed, with his fuzz of black hair Carral did resemble Arel more than he did Arthur. What could be already gathered of his facial lines was that of his uncle and grandfather, as well, and while it was too soon to say what shade of purple his eyes would take, Arthur could bet that it wouldn't be his own clearness of colour. Violet, most likely, darkening to black when truly angry.

"I can't wait for the time when he's old enough to talk," Arel went on, determined not to let the hopelessness lurking around the nursery since the very first day settle in. "People will certainly mistake him for mine."

Arthur smiled a little. "And you'll find it funny, eh?"

"Incredibly funny," his brother confirmed. "And you can rely on Alric and Oberyn to teach him how to mislead people about that because well, it's so funny."

"He does look like you, for now at least," Arthur confirmed. Relief coursed through him when the newborn's wails turned into whimpering and then, that stopped as well.

Alynna came near, the child still in her arms. "Do you wish to hold him for a moment, Arthur?"

And risk holding him in a way he shouldn't, making the pain return? "No," he replied.

She shrugged and kept busying herself with Carral. "I'll try not to feel concerned by the very obvious resemblance, my lord," she offered, not bothering to look at her husband. "And I'll particularly try not to feel concerned that you were here around the time they were conceived."

Both men laughed, relieved to see some of her perky spirit restored to her. But they had seen it coming back a few times already. Always, it retreated, leaving her into the realm of regret, longing, and grief that she had barely scrambled out of years ago, into the merciless grip of terrified fear that she had not overcome yet.

"I happen to remember where I spent my nights during this stay, my lady wife," Arel said. "Don't you remember as well?"

She pretended to be in deep thought as she placed the now sleeping Carral next to Myriah. Immediately, the two started rearranging themselves without waking up. Arthur knew that they'd end up touching their heads. That was what they did.

For a while, Alynna stayed there, staring at them. Arthur wondered whether she had come because she missed her own twin children, also a boy and a girl and just a year older, left at Starfall. Or maybe she was thinking of her other twins, the ones born in her first marriage? Sometimes, Arthur felt so jealous of Rhaegar despite knowing that Elia had never loved him that he couldn't understand how his brother could accept Alynna's past so coolly.

"Come on, Arel," his goodsister finally said. "Let's go."

After their leaving, Arthur stayed for a while near the cradle, wondering why newborns spent so much time sleeping. Not that it was a bad thing. Sleeping meant not crying and while they had tried to move the nursery away from Elia's own bedchamber, she wouldn't allow such a thing, so Arthur had become well acquainted with the level of noise children were capable of producing. He tried to remember whether Rhaenys or Aegon had cried so much. As far as he could say, they hadn't.

The door creaked open and Rhaenys poked her head in, as if summoned by his thoughts. "Oh they're sleeping," she said, disappointed. "Well, I'm going to see Mother, then."

But a few minutes later, Arthur saw her crossing the courtyard in a great hurry. Perhaps she had been summoned by one of her friends, or perhaps she had feared that Elia would send her straight to her septa.

But he did cross a smaller hallway and opened slightly the door of Elia's bedchamber. She looked at him from the bed and he could say that she had been crying. Of course – she had stopped taking the milk of poppy altogether and despite still being confined to her chamber, she was in possession of all her senses. She had certainly heard when the maester had worked on Carral.

"They're sleeping," Arthur said, going for the bed. "Both of them."

She nodded, fresh tears coming to her eyes. At this moment, Arthur made a decision that she should never be allowed into the nursery while Carral was receiving his treatment. She might intervene and even stop the maester. Hell, even Arthur had been tempted to do so because the manipulations applied were definitely painful.

"Was there any… effect?" Elia finally asked and Arthur took het thin hands. What should he say? Lie? The only visible effect was that after Maester Caleotte's leaving, their son had been in more pain that prior to his arrival. But according to Alric, so had been Ivorr. And the tales of how Naeryn had been taught to use the hand she had were still the stuff of legends in Dorne. The kind of legends that made one startle awake at night, brow covered in sweat.

And yet Elia's half-brother was a great captain commanding his own ship and Naeryn was one of the most coveted women in Westeros. Hardly something she could have achieved if she been lapping her food straight from the plate.

"There will be," he said, once again grabbed by the fear that instead of uniting them, the love they both felt for their son might divide them.

She sighed and moved to one side, so he could be seated more comfortably. "I know," she said. "It's just so… hard."

"Even more so when you've been fearing this birth because of their position for months," he said, unable to keep the echo of accusation out of his voice. Would she forever be like that, unable to share her most intimate fears with him?

She looked away. Slight blush rose to her cheeks but she remained silent. Arthur also chose not to chase the matter further. No one could force themselves into sharing, he knew it.

"What's going on?" he asked, nodding at the piles of parchments scattered all over the cover. Although unable to leave her bed, Elia had undertaken some of her duties once again, including looking through all the official correspondence of the Old Palace.

She rearranged herself but Arthur thought that it wasn't her position that made her uncomfortable.

"Viserys has been betrothed to Mace Tyrell's daughter," she said flatly.

Arthur knew he shouldn't be surprised and the truth was, he wasn't taken aback, exactly. The Tyrell's desire for a royal match had been well known and after their part in the last war, they felt they deserved it.

"I wanted the girl for Aegon," Elia went on, her eyes flashing. "And at one point, Rhaegar wanted that match as well. What has changed, I wonder?"

Arthur hesitated. "Maybe he thought Aegon was too young. I don't know."

Of course, that was no sound explanation and he went still, trying to figure it out. Returning his kindness, Elia did not comment his lack of good reasoning.

"At least now we know why the Tyrells were so offensive to Alaenys," she said thoughtfully. "And why Rhaegar didn't stop them until the very last day. Couldn't ruin the accord with his new family, huh?"

Despite himself, Arthur grinned. How many times had Ser Gerold scolded him for expressing sentiments like this, getting dangerously close to judging the King? And he had kept doing it anyway. There were some things that could not be carved out of a man and for any true Dornishman, hatred for the Reach was one such.

"I wonder why Rhaella didn't mention it when she was here," Elia added and sighed. "Of course, she had no reason to. She didn't ask to be put in this position but I thought that…"

Her mind was racing. Had Rhaegar lost his mind? Was he doing this on purpose, denying Aegon a powerful ally? She didn't want to believe it but what other explanation could there be? As Viserys' goodfather Mace would increase his influence greatly. And if her worst fears came to pass, he'd never ally himself with a half-Dornish prince. He could influence Viserys into supporting Lyanna's son instead. Was Rhaegar _blind_?

A missive to Oldtown was in order. But now, she would not think of that anymore. She was getting unreasonable, she could even say so herself. Instead, she patted another parchment. "Have a look."

He did and whistled. "I didn't know she could turn her back to her duty so," he commented.

"It isn't a jesting matter, Arthur!" Elia snapped.

"Who's jesting? I truly didn't know she _could_."

Once again, he started reading, this time not even looking at the courtesies. _I'll let you know, my lord, that the Sealord threw his lady wife, your noble cousin, out in a fit of rage to which he's been more prone in the last few years. When he regretted it in a week or so and tried to find her in her smaller residence, Lady Lanore wasn't there. She hasn't been seen anywhere since the day of his rage. But now, her sons also disappeared and she sent word that she would not be coming back. The Sealord is beside himself with rage. Unless the lady returns, the loan the Princess of Dorne is trying to negotiate with the Iron Bank would not be given or given under terms that would have Dorne paying for it for the next ten decades..._

Arthur could not believe his eyes. How could such a thing have happened? The worst thing was, they needed this loan. There was simply no other way to fill the treasury so they could make any profits.

No, the fact that they had no idea where Lanore Gargalen was – that was worse. How on earth could they send her back to her husband if she wouldn't come to them? _If_ Elia chose to make her go back, that was it. If the Sealord's threat wasn't just that, a threat.

"Why did Oberyn give this to you when you're still so unwell?" Arthur finally snapped, darkly satisfied that he had found something bad that he could make someone pay for. And pay for it Oberyn would.

* * *

><p>"Do we really have to go there?" Roderic of the North asked quite nervously, giving the dragons before them a suspicious look.<p>

"Look at the gargoyles," Naeryn told him and followed her own advice. The things' ugliness felt soothing. At least they weren't dragons, unlike anything else.

The pair headed through the gallery towards the middle wall. The black iron gates was shining as if freshly polished. Nothing about the castle, as far as Naeryn had seen in the three days after her arrival, looked neglected. But that fact didn't make it less gloomy.

"Do we?" the man insisted again. Of course, he wasn't afraid of the dragons rising bigger before them. While Naeryn had been recuperating – a sea storm was the last thing someone who had broken about all bones in their body just half a year ago needed, - he had not been so hindered. He had had the time to feed himself on a steady diet of rumours about the red horror they were going to visit.

"That's why we came," she replied. "Stay here."

They were now at the foot of the Windwyrm Tower. The sight of the defiant dragon was one that Naeryn suddenly enjoyed. How strange!

"I am to stay here?" her Northern shadow asked, clearly disgruntled. "I am your shield, my lady, and if I can say so, now you need one more than ever."

"You cannot," she retorted but of course, he had already said it. And he had the right of it. What was she thinking? She still couldn't walk straight, for the Mother's sake! She was leaning on her left side as a drunken sailor! As much as maesters and great masters of the sword proclaimed that the ailments of the body didn't matter, Naeryn knew better than all of them that they did. After all, most of those men had never been significantly impeded by bodily injuries, hadn't they?

But she had come all the way from Dorne, hadn't she? She could just as well start acting because it would be a good number of months before she regained her former health – and as to her looks, that she might never reclaim! Meanwhile, a woman who was dangerous would push her way into the life on the island even more.

"She's a shadowbinder, Roderic," Naeryn said. "If she is of the mind to do something to me, it won't be anything as trivial as pushing me through the window, I assure you."

"A sorceress." His lips curled in fear and disgust. "You're going to come face to face with a sorceress. That's what she is."

"Yes," Naeryn confirmed and smiled. "But so am I."

Of course, Melisandre of Asshai had taken residence on the upper floor. Naturally! It was a good decision, making the best of the most remote place the Queen Dowager had dared send her to without insulting those who had sent her. No one in their right mind would climb all those steps, those narrow spiraling staircases unless they absolutely had to. This way, Melisandre could have her privacy. Naeryn was sorry that she couldn't take chambers on an upper floor as well but well, she couldn't. That was it.

The smell filled her nostrils even before she reached the last landing, gasping. As she leaned against the wall to catch her breath and ease the pain in her leg, she felt how this mix of aromas brought her back to Asshai – the smell of fire, cold, devotion, and magic older than Essos itself.

There were no servants around to announce her, so Naeryn knocked at the door, waited for the duration of ten breaths, and entered. An empty antechamber. She went to the second door and repeated the procedure.

"Come in," a voice said. "I've been waiting for you."

Of course she had. The two women had spotted each other at dinner, although they hadn't exchanged any words – Melisandre sat with Rhaella's entourage while Naeryn was seated on the dais. But Naeryn had always known that Melisandre would gather the reason for her arrival without much effort.

She entered and her eyes immediately went to the great fireplace dominating the solar where the occupant knelt. The Queen had taken good care of her visitor, providing her with all the luxuries of soft furs, heavy tapestries, and upholstered chairs. Melisandre would not have minded sitting on simple wood. That would be a vast improvement compared to their environment while they had studied in the Temple.

"Take a seat," Melisandre said and rose from her position. "I have to admit that you had me fooled. I really thought you were Oberyn Martell's mistress."

"I might have been," Naeryn said, choosing a chair. Her eyes studied her hostess without pretending not to. The two women hadn't seen each other in more than ten years. Naeryn knew that she had changed, turned into a woman. Melisandre, though, was still the same, not having aged a day. Still stunning, red, and imposing.

Melisandre huffed. "I had no idea," she said again. "He called you _dear heart_ and was so tender with you. It didn't even occur to me that you might be a Martell."

"I am not," Naeryn reminded her.

"Right. A Gargalen, then."

Naeryn didn't correct her, as she did with almost everyone who made this slip of the tongue. Melisandre was very observant. She would pick up on Naeryn's feelings. And Naeryn was not about to give her any advantage.

"How did you procure the letter from Braavos?" she asked curiously. "Lanore – that's the Sealord's wife – would want someone like you around Elia's boy even less than I do."

Melisandre smiled. "The Sealord is not his wife," she said. "And when I came here, he and your cousin weren't on the best of terms. In fact, I'm hearing that he threw her out and she obediently disappeared – so fully that he cannot find her."

That was news to Naeryn. It was probably also a lie thrown to make her feel concerned, lower her defences, reveal more than she intended.

For a while, they both kept their silence, waiting for the other to make the first step.

"Why are you here?" Naeryn finally asked with straightforwardness that surprised her. "Are you still looking for him – Azor Ahai?"

Melisandre slowly nodded. Her hands gripped the crimson silk of her gown, sending a faint whiff of smoke and enhancing powder towards Naeryn. "The visions have been stronger," she said. "Clearer."

"And wrong," Naeryn said softly, feeling sorry for the other woman all of a sudden. "You think that Aegon is this person, this savior. The one you've been looking for in decades. But you're wrong."

She forced herself to look Melisandre straight in the eye. The smells and red in the room made her long for Asshai all of a sudden, with all its dangers, with all misfortunes she had encountered there. With all the knowledge, both good and bad. She had never felt more alive than in her time there.

The red priestess shook her head. "I am not," she said. "I've been following Rhaegar Targaryen's steps since he decided to take Elia Martell to wife. Their son fits all the signs."

"Because Rhaegar _arranged_ it so! He shaped it so Aegon would fit the signs," Naeryn exclaimed. "He didn't happen to be born here just by chance. Or even conceived by chance!"

Melisandre narrowed her eyes but smiled anyway. "It looks like Elia Martell is not only your cousin but your confidant," she said lazily.

"It doesn't matter. If a prophecy can be fooled, then it wasn't a real prophecy at all."

Melisandre gasped, utterly stunned for the first time since Naeryn knew her. "You are very lucky that Benerro didn't hear you! How dare you-!"

Naeryn shook her head, annoyed. "Don't go in hysterics all over me," she growled. "For the Seven's sake, it's a good thing you don't have any worldly power, or you would have turned the world into a giant torch over any insult to your precious prophecy. Calm down. I am not saying that I don't believe in the prophecy. I do. But you're wasting your time. It isn't Aegon you're looking for."

Again, silence descended. They both stared out the window, to the ship that was approaching swiftly under a good wind. Naeryn hadn't been so lucky at her arrival. "The three-headed dragon," she said. "Prince Viserys is coming to visit his mother. Are you sure it isn't him that you need?"

Melisandre only gave her a stony look.

"Why are you so sure?" she asked. "Do you, by any chance, have another idea who Azor Ahai might be?"

"No!" Naeryn exclaimed.

The other woman's eyes betrayed the closest thing to pity that she was capable of. "Then, Naeryn Gargalen," she said, "I'm afraid you and Elia Martell will have to put up with me here. Because I do have an idea. And it's the right one."

Any longing for Asshai Naeryn had felt disappeared when she realized that it wasn't a threat but intention.


	3. Some Things Lost and Some Reclaimed

**Tons of thanks for reviewing!**

Song of Darkness

_Some Things Lost and Some Reclaimed_

The route to the Tower of the Sun had never looked longer; more than once, Elia wished that she had listened to the advice that Arthur, her father and well, everyone had given her and accepted that litter. As it was, she had to make use of the benches strategically placed here and there in halls and hallways until her painful journey entered under the dome of gold and leaded glass.

"Mother, I thought I wouldn't make it!" she murmured faintly as soon as she caught her breath.

"At least we came here before everyone else," Arthur replied, handed her a goblet of wine and a plate of nuts left here specifically for this occasion, and eyed the carafe. _Why the hell not?_ It would be time until Elia's councilors arrived and his heart was still in his mouth with the fear that she might collapse as she walked, so he took some wine straight for the carafe.

The sunlight was abundant here but the way it fractured through the many coloured pieces of glass helped hide Elia's true, too pale complexion. She had taken great care with her face and clothes to look as healthy as possible and for a while, she might have some success.

The lords and ladies entered in small groups, more numerous that Arthur had gotten used to see them. Many of Elia's bannermen had arrived for the birth or rather, to be in the thick of things should it turn the way it almost had. And those closest to her had mostly stayed until she restored her health somewhat, so instead of having just one representative of the various regions, the throne room filled as if it was a regular Council Session. In a moment of negligence, Arthur caught Mikkel Gargalen's eye and was surprised and a little victorious when he got a very small incline of head. His foster father's dislike of him was well known… in certain circles.

After a swift reassurance that Elia was fine they took to business. "By now, you all know that the King has betrothed his brother to Mace Tyrell's daughter," Elia started.

Dark faces and a murmur of disgruntlement showed her that this was indeed the case. Cletus Yronwood and Ashara's husband looked especially grim but Larra Blackmont wore a small smile that showed Arthur that she must be aware of what was going on. Of course, Elia or Alric would have told Elvar and he would have reassured his wife, who, as a lady of an area just to the Prince's Pass, was rightfully worried of the Tyrells' gaining more power.

"Are we going to have more attacks from the Reach now? Disguised as small problems that, of course, Prince Viserys' goodfather will expect to be solved in his favour?" Arel demanded and Arthur hid his grin. His brother was just stirring the pot, to let Elia make bigger impression. Their father had been very smart indeed to send his heir to serve Alric. There, Arel had learned not only Alric's considerable mastery of arms but his political means, his little tricks and ways to influence people. What he was doing was quite unfair and Arthur loved it. "I cannot say I have missed Martyn Mullendore, although I have heard good things about Ser Mark. My children will adore his famous monkey, I think."

There was laughter around but soon enough, tension returned. No one needed the imminent problems that the match would bring. No one was eager to see the more distant ones in the future either.

Elia sipped from her water. "I can offer reassurance on this count, my lord," she said, smiling. "I expect that Lord Hightower's heir will be able to keep his neighbours and bannermen in peaceful mood. We know that he's I do have his guarantees of his goodwill." She smiled again. "We're currently discussing the terms of the marriage between Baelor Hightower's second son and my daughter Rhaenys."

In the silence that followed, the play of the sun over the pieces of coloured glass turned gaping mouths red and heads shaking in disbelief green. Lord Trebor Jordayne laughed out loud, having grasped his Princess' tactics. Once kings in their own right, the Hightowers had never made it to the top again. The closest they had ever gotten to acknowledged superiority had been the Dance of the Dragons. Mace Tyrell would find himself in a right spot with his powerful vassals if he threatened the prospect of their newfound prestige. Even the Queen of Thorns would have a hard time assuaging the tension.

The discussion went on but in much softer tones now. The seneschal, Ciar, brought out the complaints of those citizens of Sunspear who felt that the changes Elia had undertaken in that part of the city that had been put to fire to demolish the deadly plague taking hold there went far beyond mere repairs and were costing them additional months of discomfort and means. They did not want the improvements she had in mind – they wanted their old shanties where the sun couldn't reach and that was it. The burst of additional popularity that Elia had enjoyed with the birth of the twins was wearing off and she was surprised to find out that it hurt a little, to feel unpopular. She had never been before and the fact that she was doing it for them and they could not see it made it all worse.

Still, she was determined to finish what she had started. "We must reassure them and tell them to have patience," she said. "It won't be long until the works are finished. They will know then how lucky they are."

Not everyone agreed but it was pointless to argue with someone who looked so determined and besides, Sunspear was the Martells' own stronghold. They would not meddle until absolutely needed.

"What about that loan from the Iron Bank?" Lord Qorgyle, newly arrived from the desert, asked and Arthur glanced at Oberyn. No, his goodbrother had not said anything to his foster father. Arthur's next look was at Lady Allyrion who met his eye with a calm smile. No, it hadn't been her either but damn it, the woman's shrewd brown eyes could pierce through one's skull. "I hear that the Sealord is making threats."

All eyes went to Lord Gargalen who shrugged. _"_We know just as much as any of you," he declared. "Yes, it's true that he threw my daughter out and she's vowed not to return. But she isn't here to explain her side of things, so there's little clarity. At this point, it's futile to discuss anything. We cannot give him what we don't have."

_My lord, my lord, you make such a great liar_, Arthur thought admiringly. Nothing in Mikkel's cool voice and serious demeanor showed that he was saying anything but the truth, yet in the very heart of Elia's chambers, Lanore lay, having collapsed in deep slumber as soon as they had taken her youngest from her tired arms. Arthur had yet to see her but he had heard Elia's handmaidens whisper that the infant could do very few of the things children this age did – he could not sit up and he would not even roll.

Murmurs arose; with a sinking heart, Arthur recognized the note he had so often heard as he stood guard at the feet of Rhaegar's throne. People were distrustful. Prince Doran had had to tread carefully, always mindful of the sentiment that he favoured his Gargalen relatives greatly and unjustly. Whatever Lanore told them when she woke up, few would be those willing to take the risk of bleeding Dorne dry for the sake of a single woman, and one who had made her life in the Free Cities more than a decade and a half ago, if it came to that.

"So, what about the new watering system?" Elia asked in a firm voice that put an end to this particular discussion, for now at least.

Lanore was still sleeping when Elia entered the chamber, leaning against Arthur's arm. Her two older sons who had refused to be separated from her slept in a grown-up sized bed against the other walls but were already stirring in their sleep. Children were this resilient. Elia knew that the older boy was six but the younger one looked indeed younger than his years. And then she noticed the infant the handmaidens had brought over, and gasped. At eleven moons of age, this child was smaller than both Rhaenys and Aegon had been at six! Grey cheeks, poor little bonelike hands, eyes that held no expression… Even her Carral looked vastly better!

"But he's been starved!" Elia whispered in horror. "He's been starved!"

Her entire being was shocked by the discovery. She had seen children in this condition only when she had visited the poorest of the poor, or the orphanages taking children who were almost dead.

"He was."

Lanore's voice was hoarse with sleep, although her eyes were wide and alert. "I couldn't…" She glanced at Arthur and paused.

"Would you please get me to that chair and leave?" Elia turned to her husband and busied herself with the exact angle of the chair because she feared that she might grab her cousin and shake her until one or the other of them fainted with the effort._ Couldn't you see that this babe was starving? You're his mother!_

Near the foot of the bed, her grandmother stirred and glared behind Elia's back. Elia didn't need to turn around to know that her father and uncle were as shocked by the sight of the poor babe as she was.

"What happened?" she finally asked.

Still, her cousin took her time to answer, looking from her father to her uncle and back which in turn gave Elia time to have a look at her. In the mayhem of her arrival, she hadn't paid attention but now she was terrified of just how much Lanore had aged. Once a ravishing beauty with her mother's auburn hair and clear blue eyes, an hourglass figure that had made men mad with desire, and a winning smile, her travails in the recent years and the three late, closely spaced births had left her with a thickened body, a lined and puffy face, and thinning hair, as well as fear that made her eyes dart constantly around, as if to detect a hidden enemy.

"What happened," she slowly said. "Sometimes, I don't know what happened. He fell from his horse, hit his head, started taking some dragon breath for the pain – and it started."

"Some _what_?" Elia asked, perplexed.

"Dragon breath," her father said behind her. "A very strong painkiller. Very addictive as well."

He came near and Lanore drew back against the wall as if she was scared that he'd strike her. Alric pretended that he hadn't noticed because she would be mortified otherwise. "He got addicted, didn't he?" he asked.

She nodded against the pillow.

"Maybe even violent?" he went on, very gently.

Her mouth trembled. Tears came to her eyes but she swallowed them back. "Yes," she whispered. "Violent and mad. Towards me and the children. Its been three years already. They are scared of him. _I _am scared of him. When… when Oriello was born…" She looked at her infant. "He was obsessed his idea that the Iron Bank was trying to replace him with someone else."

_No wonder_, everyone thought. The man had come to his position after winning the support of the Iron Bank against his predecessor who had died of grief and shame, and his longtime illness when he had been told that he'd be pushed off his chair. The new Sealord had celebrated his coming into position by taking his former rival's widow to be his own wife.

"He thinks that the Iron Bank just wants to do away with him and his. He became obsessive with his safety. He had the boys followed everywhere. And he didn't let anyone but me nurse Oriello. I cried and I begged, and I said that I didn't make enough milk but he wouldn't hear. After he had a servant-maid flogged for nursing him, no one would dare. I didn't know what to do, I tried to give him cow and goat milk but it also made him sick…"

Elia's bile rose and even Alric couldn't hide his horror and distaste. The Sealord had left his son starve to death just because…? But with addictive potions, there was never such a thing as _just because_.

"He also started suspecting me," Lanore went on. "In all kind of affairs. Had me followed to find out who my lover was. Came to my chambers unexpectedy at night and started searching for him, sword in hand. Last time, he went furious that he couldn't find him and descended upon me." Her voice shook. "The First Sword barely managed to tear him off me. He threw me out that same night. But not before leaving me a memento."

Everyone in the chamber gasped, save for Daella. She had been here all the time her granddaughter had spent tossing and turning, so she must have seen the memento in question.

"I am not going back," Lanore declared, her eyes suddenly bright, defiant. "I am not going back, no matter what you say. Even if I am unwelcome here or at Salt Shore, I'd rather beg my bread by the side of the road than return!"

Elia wanted to tell her that she wouldn't have to return, never, but the words refused to leave her mouth. Could she really assure Lanore of something that might turn out to be a lie? The Sealord still had great influence over the Iron Bank and from there, over the whole Essos and a good deal of Westeros as well. Could she risk Dorne even for Lanore?

"You won't have to," Mikkel said sharply but Elia caught the traitorous note of hesitation in his voice. Lanore also did because she closed her eyes and tugged the cover higher, as if to protect herself.

"Indeed she won't." There was something feral in Daella's voice. Her kind eyes shone with the dark glint of a blade as she landed them upon his sons and then Elia. Never before had she looked at her like this. "She's staying. If someone wants to send her anywhere, they can do it only over my dead body. She's staying, no matter what."

* * *

><p>"Fifty days and fifty nights did he labour and as R'hllor lit the day for a fiftieth time and one was the sword ready…"<p>

Rhaella didn't need to hear more: she pushed the door open and didn't bother to hide her displeasure, giving the red priestess a level look. "I have not approved of any additions to the children's lessons, Lady Melisandre," she said coldly, wondering how the woman had gained access in the very chamber lessons were taking place. There were servants everywhere. The children's attendants. The guards. Jaime Lannister standing in front of this very door, by the Mother! How had everyone come to just let her come in? She might have easily killed Aegon upon the spot had she wanted to!

The round chamber had once housed Rhaella's own lessons when she had been a child and visiting Dragonstone. Her dragon blood had always welcomed the particular heat to this room compared to the rest of the castle. The windows were high and the sun topped the entire chamber, lending warm lustre to the woooden floor and turning the ferocious dragon heads that were the backs of settees and chairs into sweet pets.

Never before had Rhaella envisioned the place as dangerous. The red woman who bowed was scaring enough by herself, bringing memories of Aerys' fires – but what scared Rhaella most was the fact that both Aegon and Daenerys stared at Melisandre with fascination so rapt that at this moment, nothing else existed, nothing by her. Horrified, Rhaella stepped back. 'Daenerys!" she cried out. "Aegon!"

Her voice startled the children out of their rapture and they ran for her, thrilled to see her. She wanted to hold them tight but instead turned to the red woman, having found her self-possession and regal bearing once again. "You're going too far, my lady," she warned. 'Should I find you around the Prince or Princess once again without having my personal permission, you'll be treated as any threat against the Prince of Dragonstone should be treated. I did not take them here so that everyone can dance in. Take that into account."

The red priestess bowed her head. "My lady, I will."

_I wish_, Rhaella thought. Lady Melisandre well knew that she'd never grant her permission to visit Aegon, let alone tell him her tales. And she wanted to gain access to him. Truly wanted it.

"She wasn't dangerous to us," the boy said abruptly. "She's kind. And she tells us some very interesting stories."

Rhaella's skin crawled. It would be better if Aegon could be kept away from Melisandre's kindness. "You may leave, my lady," she said and went to the window, trying to compose herself. She heard the clicking of the door and barely stopped herself from going out there and giving Jaime Lannister an earful before going to the maester and doing the same. The children had been supposed to have a lesson with him, not the Asshai woman, so why was she here and he was not? And where by the Crone was Naeryn? The only reason Rhaella had accepted this girl whose presence unsettled her was that Naeryn had been supposed to keep Melisandre of Asshai away!

One look out the window gave her the answer to her last question. Naeryn stood in the middle of the yard facing the Stone Drum. She had probably intended to go up here before she was delayed. Rhaella gasped when she saw the reason for this delay. Her son, all but fifteen, stood facing the young woman. He was half a head taller than her already and he was talking to her animatedly, his face lit up with a light and eagerness that Rhaella had seen every so often on the faces of boys this age. And watching from behind the glass, she realized all of a sudden that Naeryn no longer keeled to her left so much, that her face was restored to a great deal of its former beauty, with added paleness that made her look as delicate as a brilliant snowflake, and that instead of someone whose hair had barely started growing, she could pass for a woman with an exquisite way of tying her headdresses over her head.

Only the thought that Melisandre looked slightly distressed by Naeryn's presence stopped Rhaella from ordering Aelinor's daughter back to Dorne right at this moment.


	4. New Spring and New Promise

**As usual, huge thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

Song of Darkness

_New Spring and New Promise_

From Sunspear to Godsgrace and beyond, the shores of the Greenblood were black with people who waved hats and veils, screaming themselves hoarse by shouting Elia's name. Sandy Dornishmen, deep brown and so thrilling to her as a child, much more than the salty ones which she was also descended from. She had no idea how they knew who traveled in the ship with no crest on the sails but they knew, they had learned somewhere, and they had all gathered to greet her. All of a sudden, her eyes welled up. The initial havoc accompanying her stepping in her new role had kept her at Sunspear and the Water Gardens and the trials of the new swelling with child had prevented her from venturing further even when everything had calmed down, so now it was the first time after her journey to Sunspear that she could finally let her eyes feast in the land that had dwelled in her dreams and memories, the one that would always hold her heart. And the people of Dorne to which she also belonged shouted and applauded her, accepting her despite the fact that this far, she had only done what every decent ruler would have done, restoring peace and law within Dorne's borders. Again and again, one cry arose, echoing strangely twisted over the twirling expanse of the river. "The Seven keep our princess, Arianne's daughter!"

"They love you," Arthur said, smiling, and wrapped a heavy cloak around her shoulders. He had long ago despaired of getting her inside, so all that he could now was protect her from the cold wind.

"I have yet to do anything for them," Elia replied. She knew that she had already done a lot, saving them from the Iron Throne's direct control, providing them with an heir and now, with two more children of her bereaved line and yet, it didn't feel like it. She still felt in their debt. There was still so much to do. "Where is Master Sidor?"

Shortly after, the Stormlander appeared, negotiating the unstable deck with wide confident strides. In the last year or so, Elia had found out that the architect Stannis Baratheon had sent her was also a visionary with some very intriguing ideas of how various town should be developed. Did he hide a talent for sea-faring under his so ordinary exterior as well? Elia would have gladly paid Lord Baratheon a small fortune if only he decided that he didn't need Sidor's services anymore. But he wouldn't be this stupid.

"A good river you have here, my lady," he said approvingly as soon as he came within talking distance. His contrived attempts at courtesy always amused her because she could swear they stemmed from the fact that she was a woman, more than anything else. She could only imagine how his exchanges with his lord went. From Alaenys' letters, she knew that her cousin was very appreciative of the Onion Knight who didn't sound like a man skilled at courtly flatteries. Alaenys would like Master Sidor as well.

"Do you think you can do something for cleaning the bed for real?" Elia asked.

He looked troubled. "My lady, I know what I said but at the time, I didn't know Dornish rivers were quite this deep. Cleaning the beds in depth might prove trickier than I thought…"

"Yet it must be done," Elia said. The maesters and her own men who knew something of such things predicted that without a good cleaning every year, one of the following years would see great floods.

"More expensive as well," he said after a brief pause.

Elia was totally unsurprised. She had learned that when people paused after saying that something would be trickier, they usually followed it with "more expensive, as well". Alyse Ladybright would fly into a fury. Wisely, Elia hadn't included the woman in her entourage.

As Master Sidor drew some sketches murmuring to himself and muttering curses from time to time, clearly forgetting that he had a lady standing right next to him, Elia tried to calculate just how she should divide the expenses so all the major rivers would get their beds cleaned. Alas, probably nothing could be done for the lesser ones.

For this year. As Doran had used to say, he would take the risk of turning bannermen and smallfolk alike against him if there was no other choice but there probably was, in most cases. He just had to find it. If she could succeed with the major rivers this year, next year it would be easier to both clean them and have the lesser ones cleaned as well. Financing part of the enterprise and forcing the lords and ladies who claimed ownership of the waters pay the other part. She smiled a little. Yes. That was what she would do.

Godsgrace was the last stop in her journey. To her relief, the celebrations marking her visit were quite small – Ryon Allyrion was clearly made aware that she could not stay in public for long. His mother who resided in Sunspear, or in other words, wherever Elia's uncle resided, must have been resolved not to have the Lady of Dorne fainting in Godsgrace out of sheer exhaustion.

"Ready to return to Sunspear with me?" she heard Oberyn ask the young Daemon Sand.

"Oh yes!" the boy answered with readiness that made Elia wonder whether Lady Ynys made him feel unwelcome here. While she would not be allowed to be openly resentful of her husband's bastard, it was more than possible that she disliked his presence into their lives, despite the fact that Ryon had fathered him well before his marriage to her, when he had been still in another betrothal.

"Why so thoughtful, Princess?" their host's voice startled her in the pause between the music pieces.

She smiled a little. "I was just lost in the past," she answered truthfully.

"I see." Shades of that past flickered behind his eyes as he spoke in a softer tone. "I thought that your entourage might include… someone else."

Elia startled again. Had his mother actually left written evidence of what was going on? She'd have to have words with the woman. "She isn't here," she said firmly.

He nodded. "Until you decide what to do with her, I guess?" he asked and looked up to make sure that his wife was not within earshot. "Does the Sealord still insist that she returns?"

Suddenly angry, Elia tightened her lips. Damn it, she would not be interrogated as if he had any right to demand answer! He had lost this right when he had broken his promise to Lanore.

His lips pressed together as he weighed her silence. He barked a laugh. "The poor man has no idea what he's so insistent to bring upon his head. I guess that if she returns, he'll be happy for a month or two before she makes his life hell. Lanore is incapable of forgiving."

_Because forgiveness is something that you feel you're entitled to?_ Elia wanted to snap. Rhaegar had been this way as well. And while at the time she had felt that Lanore had been too obstinate for her own good, now she could sympathize with her cousin's feeling of betrayal. Obstinate? Ha! Lanore had dissolved her betrothal to Ryon over her father's objections and pressure. Elia could testify under an oath that Aegon the Conqueror himself would have found it hard to withstand her uncle's pressure, meaning that Lanore had been indeed determined and exceedingly brave if she could hold her own and not dance on her father's tune. Oh, she had forced Ryon to annul the betrothal because Mikkel wouldn't do it and she had no authority in the matter but those close to them knew the truth – that she was no dishonoured lady who had to suffer rejection.

"Forgive me if I cannot feel too much pity," Elia said icily, meaning both men – Ryon Allyrion and the Sealord alike. And then, she smiled, the memory of Lanore's firmness in the face of the entire world telling her that she was just a spoiled child who wanted the world on a plate giving her an idea of what to do about her cousin's current predicament. It would not make Lanore look good – but it might just work.

* * *

><p>The spring grew green and joy and the Stormlands waited. Those who conducted business at Storm's End all asked the same question when passing through the massive gates. The people in the smaller buildings looked up at the drum tower eagerly but it remained stubbornly peaceful. New rumours abounded every day and some of them were even true – that Lord Baratheon and Maester Cressen despaired of Lady Alaenys' refusal to rest sufficiently. Indeed, she was on her feet all day long, or so the rumours went. She chafed at the confinement that was customary for women of high birth, proclaiming that she'd die of boredom well before her time came, which horrified her attendants and the maester as being utterly unbefitting and very irresponsible of her and made people wonder whether her dates had not been placed wrongly. Surely no mother who was expecting any moment now would prefer tiring herself with refurnishing than saving her strength for the greatest trial in her life? But when the castle awoke at the news that Lady Aelinor Targaryen had arrived and the outlandish attires of her Dornish attendants appeared in the hallways, everyone knew for sure that it would happen very soon.<p>

Alaenys did not know how to take her mother's arrival, especially at seeing Stannis' content at the news. "Just in time," he announced. "Your lady mother will send you straight to the settee, Alaenys, you'll see."

"My lady mother has given birth to two sons and three daughters, my lord, so she'll understand how I feel," Alaenys said firmly but inside, she was not so sure at all.

"Do I look too big?" she asked anxiously as soon as she was left alone with Aelinor. The news of Elia's small son had arrived in the worst possible time, heightening her own fears of the upcoming birth. What if it turned out that she, too, was carrying twins? She was a twin herself, albeit a half of an overwhelmingly robust pair. What if her babe sustained injury like Elia's had? Stannis would not say anything to her but she knew of the rumours spreading in the castle – that her womenfolk's praised fertility came at a price, that too many of their children were born unhealthy. That intensified the tension between her and Stannis to an almost feverish pitch and while she did everything Maester Cressen said she needed to in order to provide an optimal positioning of the babe, she did not feel any real change. Stannis' fears manifested themselves into his obsessive insistence of her rest; her own took the shape of moving as much as she felt comfortable with, proving that she was not suffering a hard time like Elia and was like her mother instead. Family history had it that Aelinor's pains with Alaenys and Aegyl had started on her morning ride.

She wasn't sure what she expected. An immediate reassurance that she was just as big as she should be, perhaps. Instead, Aelinor gave her a long examining look before shrugging. "You look just fine to me for a woman so far along. And yes, of course you look too big. I don't think I've seen you in any other way but with a concave belly since you were two."

A startled laugh flew out of Alaenys' lips. Somehow, her mother's practical attitude was more soothing than all the nervous reassurances she and Stannis gave each other that everything was progressing just as it should. "Oh Mother! I'm so happy you came."

"I wouldn't stay away," Aelinor said, smiling. "When a woman gives birth for the first time, she needs someone more experienced of her family close by. The Seven know how relieved I was that I had your grandmother and aunts so close by at the time I had Naeryn."

"Were you scared?"

Aelinor nodded, addressing the specific fears her daughter would not say aloud. "More than anything. I didn't know who my babe's father was. People were turning their backs on me. I was scared that I'd give birth to a monster because Maelys Blackfyre could be the father, and even more scared that the babe would be a monster because I hated it so much." She paused. "I was always scared of the shock at her birth repeating at my next ones, yet it never did. It won't repeat for you either, Alaenys."

"How do you know?" the young woman asked desperately.

"Because you're young. You're strong. Such things are so rare. It's your fear talking. All will be fine."

"Elia…"

"Elia just had a bad luck. Or a very good one, since she and the babes are alive. Yes, a very good luck indeed. I had no problems in your birth and anyway, you're carrying just one babe, and easily. Why are you scared of her circumstances repeat?"

Alaenys thought over that. She desperately wanted to believe her mother's reassurances but her fear was just too great.

* * *

><p>Elia peeked from behind the curtain, leaving the sun to bathe her face for a while. She did not relish the thought that she'd have to order her bannermen to part with a substantial piece of their income for her project of cleaning the river beds. Hell, even Arel Dayne might object! Her uncle would support her, of course, but it was easy for him to do so. <em>He<em> had no major river running through his domains. Lady Delonne might object, though. Elia was planning to cover a bigger part of House Allyrion's expenses, simply because they had two rivers to take care of, which would enrage the other lord and ladies affected by her plans. The next few days were not something she looked forward to.

Behind her, a soft mewling came. She turned back to the cradle where the recently fed babes slept. To her relief, Carral was sleeping soundly. It was just Myriah who whimpered in her sleep. Elia turned back to the window.

A moment later, she whirled about, horrified, and almost fell flat on her face because her recovery still wouldn't let her such swift motions without making her dizzy. _Just_ Myriah? Had she really thought that? She crossed the nursery as fast as she could, and felt immensely guilty when she saw that her daughter was still crying and squirming. As usual, Carral slept his twin's distress away, this time not suffering any pain at all. Elia reached over and her head swam. Fortunately, the babe was not out of the cradle yet, so she fell on her back without hurting herself but the sudden movement turned her cries into a desperate, endless wail. Scared and shaken herself, Elia was about to call for the nursemaid when Rhaenys rushed into the room, her face still hot from her staying outside. "Here," she said breathlessly, taking Myriah out. "Give her to me."

Petrified with fear and remorse, Elia watched as Rhaenys soothed Myriah quite expertly. "Here," the girl said, content. "Do you see, Mama? She likes me."

"She does," Elia managed to say.

"She's my babe," Rhaenys said proudly. "And Carral is yours."

Elia was left speechless because her daughter's innocent words were not so different from the thought that had sent her to the cradle as fast as possible.


	5. Remedies Right and False

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

Song of Darkness

_Remedies Right and False_

Before going through the iron-studded door leading from a small courtyard to the heart of the Princess' own chambers, Lanore Gargalen suddenly halted to a stop, so Alynna nearly trod over her cousin's heel. "What?" Alynna asked.

"The almonds," Lanore replied.

"Ah."

The Water Gardens might be famous for their wealth of blood oranges and Dorne as a whole might take pride in their olive trees but the small almond grove in the garden that was used almost exclusively as a place for respite by the rulers of Dorne and their families were something Alynna and her cousins all held dear.

"There are no almond-trees in Braavos," Lanore went on. "I don't know why. There just aren't any."

"I didn't know."

Lanore turned slightly away, her eyes still staring at the trees, now blooming. "I tried to cultivate them in my garden," she said slowly. "It never worked. Sometimes, they did bloom but always, always frost killed them. Sometimes, I dreamed of these trees here and I woke up with yearning in my heart." She sighed. "Never mind that. I'm just being stupid."

Perhaps she was but when Alynna looked at the beauty in rosy and white unfurling itself around her, she, too, could swear that she could hear whispers and laughter from those trees, glimpse the shadow of a time long gone.

Lanore entered the building without looking back. From time to time, she stopped in the hallways to stare at the works of art. Many of them had been crafted by her late brother, Alynna's first husband – things he had seen, flights of his imagination, people he had loved. She quickly looked away from her own bust, the beauty Errol had recreated by memory. For a moment, Alynna detected her once fine features beneath the gross flesh, the ghost of this former outstanding loveliness coming to life with the grief for the young and talented man they had both loved.

Lanore touched a latch.

At the opening of the door, the little boy gurgled with joy and immediately reached out to his mother and then his source of food. Lanore laughed with joy. In less than a month, her son had started getting better. Now, he looked merely starved and not at the Stranger's door.

Alynna unlaced her bodice and sighed with great relief when the small mouth immediately found the nipple. "Thanks for letting me borrow him," she said lazily, her eyes closed in pure bliss. "He's a great cure."

Lanore laughed disbelievingly. "By the Seven, Alynna! You were last close to your children almost three months ago! What are you made of?"

Alynna made a face. "Milk," she replied ruefully. While grateful that she had always had milk to feed all her children, the fact that she kept having it long after her babies had many of their teeth was pretty uncomfortable, let alone painful. Her body would not hear that her children no longer needed fountains of milk – not that they had ever needed all the liquid that just kept pouring off her. No matter how tight she tightened her breasts up, no matter how many weeks and even months she had not nursed, her milk would stop whenever it was ready to. And damn it, meanwhile it _hurt_.

"I see," her cousin murmured. "It's strange, isn't it," she went on. "How you have milk despite your efforts to stop it and I don't have enough, no matter how much milk I drink and how much fine meals I have." She grimaced, looking at herself with clear disgust. "I swear, there were times when I ate myself sick. All for naught. See what I look like!"

As Naeryn had been making her agonizing, slow recovery, Alynna had witnessed her horror at the thought that her skin might never heal, almost as strong as her dread that she might not recover her health. Losing her looks would be sheer torture for any woman, yet looking at Lanore now, she was stricken just how much _smaller_ her cousin looked. She had grown so stout that it was impossible to say precisely but it looked like she had shed about two stones, in less than a month. That meant that in another month or two, she'd look quite presentable. The lines on her face had smoothed over somewhat and her pallor was no longer this eminent. Being back home seemed to have invigorated her. She no longer looked up in panic each time the door opened – but she was far from calm. In her place, Alynna would not have been calm either. She should never go back, she thought but all the stories she had heard, about the way their grandmother had been handed back to the husband who had killed their unborn babe with his fists returned to her mind with vehement insistence. With politics, one could never be sure. Even Elia was more distant, focusing on her son's health and her own, making up for her short absence from the meeting of her council, and… hiding something from them, each time the matter of Lanore came up.

Soon, it had to stop. By now the Sealord had undoubtedly learned of his wife's arrival here. It was just a matter of time until Elia had to make the choice: Lanore or the crucial loan.

"I am not going back," Lanore claimed that night, as she always did when the matter of her circumstances was raised. "No matter what you say."

Her father sighed. "I shudder each time I hear you say, 'No matter what you say.' Because you really mean it. I think you're the only person I know who I can really say that about."

Elia and Alynna looked at each other. Their uncle's words were clearly not a compliment but they could not say whether they were a reproach.

Lanore took them this way. "Fortunately, you don't have to take them into account, right, Father? You can simply ship me off back to him. I won't have it!"

"No one is going to ship you off anywhere," Daella snapped. "Not as long as I draw breath."

Her eyes, deeply sunken under the sagging skin, flashed with the violet anger she was not willing to hide those days. Her hand gripped the necklace she was wearing – if Alynna was not mistaken, that was a jewel her grandmother had never put on in her life. Prince Maekar's gift for his daughter. His attempt to assuage his guilt at sending her back to her violator. Mikkel got the hint and went pale. Everyone realized that any attempt to return Lanore to Braavos would be met with Daella unleashing a storm over their heads. The old woman would not accept even a provisional return until an accident for the unworthy husband could be arranged. Not that they would make Lanore do it unless as an absolutely last resort. But Daella would not accept any _unless_.

"How much do you care about your reputation?" Elia asked.

Everyone went silent, waiting to hear why she was asking… an answer.

"Quite a lot," Lanore replied carefully. "Why?"

"Because I was wondering whether we can't make your husband want to get rid of _you_."

There was a small flash of interest in Lanore's tired blue eyes. "Go on."

"Your husband has been suspecting you in all indiscretions and affairs imaginable. What if we feed him rumours that he's right in his distrust of you? If we get him convinced, he might prove unwilling to take you back. His reputation will suffer. How can he be expected to deal with the affairs of Braavos if he cannot even deal with his own wife's affairs? If we fan the flames carefully enough, he might be forced to keep you away."

And then the Iron Bank would most certainly balk at having a good loan slip out of their hands just because of the Sealord's attempt to be a man in their affairs when he could not be one in his own bedchamber. Especially if carefully chosen words were whispered into some particular ears. Lanore slowly began to smile. As disgusting as the idea was, clashing with her pride and her sense of right and wrong, she knew that this time, it wasn't about her wishes. It was about her life or death. Her children's lives or death. Returning to Braavos would bring them nothing but doom.

Encouraged by her smile, Elia pressed on. "We know you did nothing wrong. You know this. What does it matter what people say about you in Braavos? No one can prove that your children aren't his which is the only thing that matters."

Lanore ground her teeth. It was true, and yet… Her pride roared in her blood, telling her that she should not demean herself so when it was her husband who was in the wrong. To be talked about at the markets of Braavos! By the Mother, that was more than she could bear.

"I've heard about your friendship with a certain owner of an arms school," Oberyn supplied. "The Dark Blade, I believe he's called. You've already caused some talks with your inadvertent closeness to him…" He paused and looked at his cousin expectantly.

And Lanore burst out laughing. That was rich. Of all the men in Braavos! She laughed and laughed until her sides hurt. "Your spies has served you well," she said when she could finally take breath. "But for some unknown reason, they haven't gleaned out the most important thing. No, Cousin. I am not having an affair with him. Both of my husbands, though… they were not big on discreet." To her horror, tears of anger and humiliation ran down her cheeks.

Mikkel sighed. "You've been weird since you were but a babe in the cradle," he said. "Weeping over the most ridiculous things and not even blanching at those that would reduce a grown man to tears." But there was no reproach in his voice. "As if it's such a big deal that your men slept with other women. It isn't as if your lover has abandoned you."

"As you know," Lanore sniffed, "I have no lover."

"That's where the mistake comes in," her father enlightened her. "If you had had one some years ago, you wouldn't have been sniveling now. I regret letting your mother and that damned septa be the only ones responsible for your education in certain matters. They left you half-educated."

Indeed, had Lanore been a different woman, she might have now had a great standing in Braavos. She would have been a mother to the heir of the former Sealord, a boy who would have been almost a man. Instead, she had clung to her honour.

Since her father was undoubtedly right, she chose to ignore his remark. Instead, she concentrated on more pressing concerns. "He can even repudiate me on the grounds of me being a degenerate," she said. "The Seven know that there are enough gods and priests in Braavos to grant him such a thing. But will my children be declared bastards? It's too much of a risk. He has appointed too many unworthy people on too high offices. Half of the ruling men in Braavos will support him in whatever he sets his mind to!"

"The outcome will be determined by the other half," Elia assured her. "Those we have influence upon. As well as the Red Temple. As we know, he cannot survive if he tries to obtain anything of the kind from any other god but R'hllor. The priests will refuse to bastardize your boys, and that's all there is to it. Or else, I will reconsider my interest in letting Dorne know more about their faith."

It was a true sign of Lanore's desperation that she didn't lash out at the scandalous suggestions her family laid out. At night, she might toss in bed and bite her sheets in impotent anger – but now, there were more important things than her pride at the stake. She smiled, although it pained her – a smile of reluctant admiration. "That's a reasonable idea," she managed. "And you know what? Aunt Arianne would have also said it was reasonable."

"I wonder what Naeryn is going to say," Oberyn murmured, a little relieved that she wasn't around to say it. "According to her, the best way to deal with the red priests is to keep them at bay."

* * *

><p>"She's been sick again, hasn't she?"<p>

The older woman's voice was so lacking in concern that Stannis looked up again to make sure that she realized what was going on. "She – is going to give birth – any day now," he said slowly, as if she were stupid. "This isn't like the first few months. It isn't normal."

Aelinor sighed impatiently. During her brief acquaintance with her goodson she had already learned that normal was soothing to him. She had nothing against that. It was his inclination not to be able to wrap his head around the idea that deviations didn't necessarily mean a bad thing that had set her to alert.

"It is," she said. "Each woman is different. Her body has started preparing itself for the upcoming change. Did she manage to drink some mulled wine or water afterwards?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Do you see? She's fine. At the moment, keeping her water down is more important than keeping her food down."

He nodded, as if she made perfect sense. "People can go on without food for long time indeed," he said bleakly. "Without water, though…"

"Yes," Aelinor said briskly. He would be humiliated if he felt her sympathy, yet right now it flowed. She was well aware of how his role in the war had been overlooked, for battle glory was the only thing that mattered. Just like Ser Barristan and the rest of those who had distinguished themselves in the War of the Ninepenny Kings had returned heroes – and she had returned already dubbed as Maelys' whore. "What did you do for her?" she asked.

He blinked. "What did I do? Why, what _could_ I do? I tried to get her go to bed and when she started going white, I tried to set her mind at rest. It didn't help much," he admitted.

Aelinor sipped at her tea with lack of concern that was quite infuriating.

"Of course it didn't. I have no doubt that you meant well but you made a mistake by constantly reminding Alaenys of her state. That just made her think about that more and of course, she felt faint and sick. Just let her be. She and the babe will be fine."

They both jumped in their seats when right over their heads, the ceiling shook with clatter that wouldn't stop. Someone was pushing furniture this way and that and Aelinor immediately pressed her hands over her ears while Stannis send a servant to inquire what was going on.

"What?" he asked, his astonishment evident. "My lady is doing what?"

"Rearranging the nursery, my lord. The entire floor, in fact. She ordered her women summon a few hale men and…"

Stannis looked helplessly at his goodmother for explanation. "In no more than week," she said calmly. "If she's feeling the urge to make a better hollow for her bear cub, it'll be very soon indeed."

"No bear!" he protested.

"Sorry, sorry. I meant a stag," Aelinor checked herself.

"It doesn't matter whether it's a stag! She should be in bed, resting."

Her tolerance was getting short. "Won't you stop already!" she exclaimed. "One way or the other, soon she will be in this bed _and_ scream her head off. Why are you so insistent on pushing her there now?"

He had no answer and she sighed, exasperated. When Alaenys' time came, she would have this smuggler knight of his – a very sensible man, in her opinion – take him into a smaller hall as far from the birthing chamber as possible and get him drunk. In fact, she was sorely tempted to start the process now. Why did Stannis Baratheon stick his nose in this? It was a women task. He had done his job nine months ago. But since this time he didn't retort, she decided to spare him the advice she was itching to dispense: that he might try to get Alaenys' labour start sooner by fulfilling his marital duty. It had worked two times for her. Or at least, it had given her delight and the arrival of her children in the very next day had been a joyous coincidence.

The sudden silence over their heads told her that there was no need of such means. She hurried upstairs to find the maidservants running around crying for Alaenys' attendants, and the bulky men looking away, red-faced, as if they thought that the huge wet stain on her daughter's skirts meant that she had pissed herself.

* * *

><p>"You will not find it here."<p>

Slowly, Melisandre rose from her crouch. In the flicker of the flame dancing over the small enclosed place, Naeryn saw her suggestion confirmed.

"Queen Visenya had a sword of her own," she said, looking at the urn that contained the Queen's ashes. "Dark Sister, it was named. My grandmother has seen it. It doesn't fit the description. Too short. Too slender. I've read the copies of many of the bookds my grandmother took to Dorne. Visenya Targaryen was a woman of strong passions. And Dark Sister was one of the things she was passionate about. She doesn't sound like someone who would be entrusted with keeping another sword in safe possession. Even if that sword is Lightbringer."

The red priestess nodded grimly.

"I believe that the new Azor Ahai will have a Lightbringer entirely of his own," Naeryn went on. "Not find the old one. I believe it's lost forever. It might have even been destroyed."

Melisandre shook her head. "It cannot be destroyed. The temper was too strong."

"Anyway, I believe it has played its part."

"Perhaps." Melisandre's tone held reluctance that was greater than Naeryn would have expected. A new sword would be just as good as an old one. And then realization shook her. They both knew how the first Lightbringer had been tempered. A new one would mean… new tempering. Naeryn's mind reeled at the thought of Aegon being led into believing that he was the new savior who had to kill his beloved.

"But enough about me," Melisandre said. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Naeryn laughed. "Visiting family," she said nonchalantly. Indeed, Visenya would be a preferable company to Viserys whom she could not even dissuade from his interest properly, and the Queen Dowager who glared at her as if she was the one mooning over Rhaella's precious boy and not the other way round! At least Visenya was safely dead.

"Family," Melisandre repeated slowly. Indeed, Naeryn was of the dragon line – and the sun and spear, through Aelinor Gargalen. Blood of father, blood of mother, doubly royal. Triply if Maelys' blood flowed through Naeryn's veins as well. Melisandre looked at the wall at her left. She could not see the stone dragons, of course, but she could imagine them looking at her.

Unlike many people, Naeryn had never felt any fear of underground enclosed spaces. As a child, she had welcomed them. They had been her refuge when she had wanted to hide from the shocked eyes of the people she had just met or just stay alone where she couldn't be find after a new upsetting failure to do something that children younger than her did effortlessly. Outlined by the torchlight, she had no idea of the thoughts her fair figure brought to Melisandre's mind: _that must be what Aegon's Rhaenys looked like…_

"I'll see you in the hall," she said. "I'll be with Aegon," she added, pointedly. It was a good thing that she had not expected the red priestess to falter at this reminder who was allowed into the young prince's present because Melisandre didn't falter.

"Finally!" Roderic greeted her as she emerged in the yard. "A fisherman came to seek you for his goat… they have learned in the village that you have a touch with animals…"

She gave him a dark look. "Drank too much in the local tavern?" she asked and he blushed. Naeryn huffed but made no comment. When in his cups, he was keen to extoll her virtues to everyone who would hear him out… and many who wouldn't. It was annoying, yet she couldn't be truly angry with him. He was fond of his lady. Proud of her. She wondered why he had not taken a wife. He would have been great at fatherhood.

"I'll never know why a lady like you would go to the pen," he added.

"No," she agreed. "You won't know."

A week ago, she had traveled around the island in her litter but she had not been strong enough to make a longer transition on foot. She looked with interest at the small market, the tiny but whitewashed houses, the cattle greeting their passing with bleating. This was not unlike the fishing village near Salt Shore, up to the barefoot children coming to a halt in the street to stare at her and she felt a small stir of warmth within her breast. _I could get used to living here_, she thought.

One look at the sick goat showed her what the problem was but she poked slightly to make sure. The she-goat bleated, shaking her head, and Naeryn narrowly avoided the impact. Roderic leaned forward and was about to drag her on her feet but she asked him to open her bag for her; clearly reluctant, he did.

"Come on," Naeryn said. "Someone give me a warm wet cloth. With some ministrations, she will be a source of much milk once again very soon."

"If she tries something like that again, she'll become a source of much meat," he replied, giving the goat a warning look. She didn't even bleat, she was so unimpressed, but the housewife gasped indignantly.

Feeling the soothing wetness of the cloth, the she-goat bleated gratefully and licked Naeryn's stump with an uneven tongue. It was weird how most animals went straight for the stump. It was as if they felt the weakness in her flesh just like she felt the same in theirs.

"Wash her udder twice a day like this," Naeryn said. "Gently but for a long time. And milk her often. Five times a day, at least. Don't rub the udder, it's bad for her right now. I'll tell you when you can safely do it. I'll show you how."

The ruddy woman gaped at her. "You mean you'll come again?"

"Of course I will. I'll come in three days to see how she's doing. If there's a problem, seek me in the castle. I will come."

The housewife shook her head in disbelief, taking Naeryn's fine dress and headdress in. Neither of them was fitting for court but to this woman, they might have been a queen's attire. "The Lord of Light has sent you to us, my lady," she whispered.

Naeryn stiffened. All of a sudden, she realized that keeping Aegon away from Melisandre didn't mean keeping him out of her sphere of influence. Not in the least.


	6. Sneaking Shadows

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

Song of Darkness

_Sneaking Shadows _

The voices were still quite measured but Elia could say it wouldn't last long. The beginning of a headache was not helping and neither was the sharp pain in her breasts that were only kept from swelling with milk by the tight bandages. She had the feeling that Lord Uller's eyes were tearing her apart, although he kept himself under perfect control.

"Would you hear us out, my Princess?" Lady Allyrion asked, very politely. "That's all we want."

"I am listening." _But that's now what you want, my lady. I am hearing you loud and clear, that isn't the problem. You want me to agree._

"We're doing our best to manage the rivers and keep them clean and navigable. Why this interest all of a sudden? Have we done something to make you distrust our judgment?"

Elia took a moment to admire the lady's wits. Around them, the lords and ladies in the throne room stirred uncomfortably. Distrust in one's judgment was the worst blow a liege could deal to their bannermen and the eyes going to Elia were more than hostile, mostly.

The two women, one young and slowly clawing her way back to bloom and the other old, headed for the end, rather than a new start, stared at each other. They were both dark of hair and eye, although Lady Delonne did have some white in her hair that she did not try to hide. Elia was shrinking back to her almost emaciated appearance while age and childbirths had left Lady Allyrion quite portly. Everyone around fell silent, feeling that in this battle of wills Lady Delonne, one of the Martell's longtime staunchest supporters, had the best chance to convince the Princess of not doing something that would be far from beneficial to their purse.

"You haven't," Elia replied firmly. "None of you. I appreciate your efforts to keep everything about your domains in good condition. But it can now be done in a more effective manner where river beds are concerned and I believe it's our duty to do it. Weather is getting more unpredictable; should the rivers overflow, it won't be just our crops and trade that would be endangered. Many people might lose their homes and even their lives." She paused. "I'd like to present to you the letters I've received from fishermen and farmers who work ashore."

In her heart of hearts, she was singing Ellaria's praises for offering that they use the complaints and pleas for help from locals to strengthen their case. Now, her seneschal read them loud and clear and she noticed the covert looks the lords and ladies of the pertinent regions exchanged. The fact that there was less fish and more overflowing could not be good for anyone.

"That merits some serious consideration, my lady," Lord Uller finally said.

"I agree, Lord Harmen," Elia managed through the pain in her breasts that was becoming sharper. She sipped from her water and smiled a little. "I recognize that I expect a lot of you," she said. "And since the wish of Sunspear is not to lay burden on anyone without sharing, naturally I'll cover a part of the expenses. I believe that keeping our smallfolk safe and our rivers full is of utmost importance to each one of us and Dorne herself."

She did not want to give them time to sleep on it because the fear of the immediate impact on their own finances was sure to return. Should she, despite the previous detailed discussion of the subject, offer to cover the expenses entirely? Her grandmother's famed jewels would surely suffice – but it would set a bad precedent and perhaps even create fear that Sunspear was trying to grasp the control over the rivers from the lords and ladies whose lands they passed. She looked at Arthur who shook his head, having read the hesitation on her face.

A look at Lady Allyrion told her that right now, offering too many concessions would only bring suspicions. Mikkel reached over and placed a hand over his paramour's; the lady did not exactly released her hand but the stiffening of her back told Elia that she was not in the mood to have her ire soothed.

"Perhaps we should look at the plans of action provided by Master Sidor and plans of payment our Lord Treasurer prepared for us?" Arthur put in, suddenly realizing that the pause was their chance to go into details. And once details had been brought into discussion, it would be easier for the whole to take shape as something almost certain. Real. Details might persuade even those who were understandably reluctant to part with a bigger share of their revenue than expected, and under their Princess' control, at that.

Before anyone could say something, the maps and other parchments were spread over the table and everyone leaned over.

The attack, though, came from where both Elia and Arthur most feared.

"That's all very interesting and well supported," Lord Dayne finally said, being the first one to answer. "I have a question, though. How am I guaranteed that when I do my part in cleaning the bed of the Torentine, House Caron and House Mullendore will do the same thing? Let alone the Tarlys. I would really dislike it to go out of my way to keep up with the new demands only to have the Torentine flooding my lands because the Stormlands and the Reach don't care about doing _their_ part."

"I share your concerns," Lady Blackmont said immediately.

Silence descended. Everyone knew that managing the rivers had been a source of great frictions between Houses Blackmont and Dayne, on one side, and the houses of the Reach and Stormlands, on the other. With the whims of weather, it happened all too often that neglect in the northern part of the region around the Torentine was felt more acutely in Dorne. It would not be the first time Larra and Arel found their shores flooded through no fault of their own. Complaints to the Iron Throne were usually only the first, generally inefficient step. Hostilities usually followed. Everyone could understand their caution at the prospect of paying more for something that they had only limited control over.

"You can rely on my full support," Elia said. "I'll plead to the lords and the Iron Throne itself if needed. I will not let anyone be disadvantaged."

Arel nodded. "Thank you, Princess," he said in a way showing that he would hold her up to that because… because he didn't trust her. At this moment, Elia and Arthur realized that keeping him in the dark until the last possible moment had been the wrong move on their part. They – well, Elia, mostly – had been afraid of his reaction, scared that he'd try to influence others beforehand because of the same concerns he now expressed. Instead, they now have his open distrust – in front of everyone. They should have expected that! And the fact that they got what they wanted was a bitter victory when, after the meeting reached its end, Arel and Larra left together without lingering while a few days ago, she might have stayed and he would have for sure. The situation with Lady Delonne was worse: since she was the very last one to leave, she felt no need to keep appearances: after saying her goodbyes to Elia, she determinedly shook Mikkel's hand off and strode to the door, her back erect. Small wonder here since Godsgrace was expected to meet demand higher than any other region, thanks to the two main rivers flowing through it. In the aftermath of the plague, although the consequences to her seat were nowhere close to those in other regions, that would prove a great strain indeed.

For a moment, Mikkel stared after her before whirling around to face Elia and Arthur. "Good job," he said. "What's that, a new way of bringing yourselves to ruin? By turning your allies against you?"

Elia lifted her chin, despite the fact that even that slight motion brought new strain to her breasts. "We had to do this," she said. "We must be ready to brave the weather…"

"I am not talking about this and you know it!" he snapped. "Are you mad? Why didn't you warn them in advance?"

With some relief, Elia noted that he hadn't said, _Why didn't you warn _me_?_ At least he wasn't offended. But he _was_ enraged. "Do you realize that you just showed that you don't trust them? They have been with you from the start! And you let them know along with everyone else. Are you _mad_?"

He looked at his brother. "Did you know about this folly?" he asked.

Alric shook his head, still too stunned by everything that had taken place.

"Good," Mikkel said. "Because that's true madness."

"I'm sorry," Elia said. "I should have known that she might try to take it out on you."

Her uncle laughed harshly. "I can deal with Delonne," he said. "It will be harder for you to do so. And I predict that it won't be much easier with your brother," he added, looking at Arthur before shaking his head. "And here I thought I had achieved something with you," he murmured. "Your father must be spinning in his grave at the thought that he entrusted you to my care."

Disgusted with himself, Elia, Arthur, and the unexpected situation, he turned back and left the hall without even looking over his shoulder. Silently, Alric followed and the fact that he didn't even express his opinion spoke louder than any words. Elia and Arthur looked at each other, finally realizing what their circumspection had yielded.

"Come on," Arthur said at last. "Let's go to our chambers. You look terrible. Do your breasts hurt?"

She nodded, for she did not trust herself to speak.

In the nursery, the children met her with anguished cries. "Why haven't they been fed?" Elia snapped as she took both babes to her breasts. She rarely did it but she had to relieve the tension the flowing milk caused. She gasped with pain when the little mouths found the nipples. Now that she only nursed three times a day, the pain of the first weeks had returned. But the fact that the children were hungry was worse.

The nursemaid gave her a helpless look. "Princess, you ordered that we wait for you, We only…"

Elia waved her off. The meeting _had_ taken longer than she had expected. It was not the first time it happened – but she had never been so late. "I'm sorry," she murmured to the babes as their whimper quieted. She was trying to keep nursing them as she had her first children – but at the time, she had had no other duties but take care of her babes and herself. Now, she was tormenting both the twins and herself by persisting in something that clearly wasn't going to work each time. And yet the prospect of entrusting them entirely to a wet nurse brought tears to her eyes. Arthur silently brushed them away.

"Is it really going to be this hard?" she asked fearfully as Myriah and Carral went to sleep. "Making amends for my distrust? Oh Arthur, I'm scared it was a huge mistake indeed!"

He smiled tightly. "Very hard, I expect," he said. "After all, I still haven't been able to make amends to you for aiding Rhaegar, have I?"

She closed her eyes. "Please, Arthur, not now. I am not ready to discuss it."

"When?" he asked. "When are you going to be? We've been wed for ten months, Elia, and you still refuse to discuss it. Oh you have accepted me, I know that," he added when she tried to say something. "I don't doubt your love for me. You trust me with more and more responsibilities. But in your heart of hearts, can you truly say that you trust me unconditionally?"

She opened her mouth… and closed it. Between them, there was only truth. And not saying anything meant not lying.

A new smile, just as bitter, crossed his features. "Do you see?" he said. "Once trust has been lost, it might be very hard to rebuild it. That's just as true about them as it is about you."

Elia rose and threw herself into his arms, clinging to him, trying to close the distance of the past that she knew could not be erased. This day or any given day. Only time would help. But now she felt a small part of how he must have felt when he had disappointed her trust for what he had perceived as loftier reasons… The feeling was not a good one.

* * *

><p><em>The candlelight glinted off the tender petals of the rose, veiling its calyx in shadows. Tiny bits of darkness that weaved their way over Naeryn's heart. She pushed the flower away.<em>

_Anders Yronwood's face changed with surprise. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded. _

"_What kind of woman do you think I am? Do you think you can buy me with jewels?" _

_The shock and pain in his eyes told her that this had been the last thing he had intended. _

_The silence dragged on. _

"_I only gave it to you because I thought it'd become you," he finally said. "Women who are beautiful enough to overshadow the glitter of jewels are the ones who must absolutely wear them. That was all. I'm sorry you thought otherwise."_

_The ruby rose glinted between them like a drop of heartblood._

"_I'm sorry," Naeryn finally said. "I just thought…" _

_She reached for him but he drew back. "Leave me alone," he said. "I am not in the right mood."_

_And he wasn't in the right mood for many days after. Until, suddenly, he was._

Naeryn woke up, gasping, her heart rejoicing, her hand reaching for someone who was not lying next to her. At feeling the cold sheets, recognition came to her, slowly and reluctantly. She sighed and curled herself in a ball, pressing her hands between her thighs – it was really cold on this gloomy island. Now she wished she hadn't burned Anders' letters. Not that she did not remember them almost word for word. But in the cold, dark hours between night and dawn, she would have liked to have something of him. Her eyes went to the chest at her bedside. She couldn't see the rose but she knew it was there.

"Come on," she told Roderic when she realized that sleep wouldn't come back to her this night. "Let's go out for a walk."

"You're mad," he murmured, reaching for his cloak. "And soon, you'll be dead. Just a few more strolls at this early an hour, and we'll both catch our death of cold."

"Well, you can stay here if you'd like," she offered, knowing fully well that he wouldn't.

To her shock, Prince Viserys had had the same idea as her and was now having a stroll of his own, his Kingsguard a few steps behind. In the soft glow of dawn, he looked almost impossibly handsome, despite having that peculiar clumsiness of a boy who had yet to grow into palms and feet that had become too big all of a sudden. _He's bored here_, Naeryn thought. _And restless. Why won't he leave?_

She tried to avoid the meeting but he spotted her. Now, she had no other choice but curtsey. "Why are you up so early, my lady?" Viserys asked, coming near.

"I couldn't sleep, Your Grace," she said honestly.

He nodded. "Neither could I," he said and paused. "I hoped you would come out," he said. "I know sometimes you do."

Naeryn tried to smile. Had he been someone else, she would have told him that she didn't know anything about _his_ everyday doings.

"You should keep company with young people, Your Grace," she said instead. "You don't associate with people enough."

"If I could with you…"

There was both hope and challenge in his eyes.

"Yes but we cannot, either of us," Naeryn said, smiling, before she retired.

The moment she was safely back inside, her smile slid off and her breath caught. Here. He had made his first not so veiled attempt at showing her what he wanted. By the Seven, it wouldn't be the last one! And he'd grow bolder. What was she to do when he did?

She whirled about, almost knocking Roderic down. The trip to Melisandre's chamber seemed so much shorter this time, when fear and fury moved her. She swore by the Mother that she'd make things clear with the red priestess, make her see the extend of her delusions. That was the only way to get her out of Dragonstone – and get herself out of Dragonstone and bloody Viserys Targaryen who couldn't choose a girl his own age but had to go after an old crone.

She was trying to control her fury and think of what she would say to Melisandre when the first door opened. She went it without thinking twice. In the brightly lit antechamber, she stopped, giving her eyes time to adjust – and before they did, darkness obscured her view when someone stood in her way. She gasped with surprise and then utter shock when she recognized him. "What–?" she started.

The horror writ on his face infected her immediately. "Naeryn," he gasped. "Go away! Go away before I–"

"What?" she asked, uncomprehending. "Gillerd? Where have you been? What are you doing–"

That was the last thing she heard before voice was choked out of her. The last thing she saw were the tears running down her disgraced cousin's face as his hands squeezed her harder and harder by the throat, choking out her breath as well.


	7. Darknesss Within

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

Song of Darkness

_Darkness Within_

The day was a spectacularly bad one, following an equally bad night. As Elia held Carral and rocked him to sleep, she could feel that she was falling asleep herself after the many exhausting meetings she had had with the lords affected by her decision on the river beds. One by one, they had intruded in her private parlour trying to find excuses as to why they should be granted bigger financial subsidies. The need to be alert after the sleepless night had drained her entirely.

"Give him to me," Lanore said, reaching for the babe. "You'll go to sleep before he does."

_And possibly dropping him_, Elia realized. Her son had only recently stopped crying and in Lanore's arms, he proceeded growing sleepy.

"His arm again?" Lanore asked as she placed him in the cradle.

Elia nodded. "He's trying to wave it and he can't."

"Poor child," Lanore sighed. "Come on."

They left the nursery and went to the solar. "Is Alynna joining us?" Lanore asked as tea was brought to them.

Elia shook her head.

"You mean the two of you still aren't on speaking terms?"

Elia huffed. "It's impossible to talk to her when she's in this mood. I'll have to wait for her to cool off."

Lanore stared at her, unable to believe how someone so smart could be so amazingly blind. "There isn't anything worse for your relations than letting her cool off. Elia, that was such a colossal blunder on your part that you'll have to wait for the next two months or so if you decide to wait! That was madness!"

"I know, I know!" Elia snapped. At this moment, Lanore terribly resembled her father who had even used those same words. "I'll find a way to compensate them. I'll apologize profusely. It was just a bad judgment on my part, not lack of trust or anything."

"It certainly looked like lack of trust to me," Lanore murmured. "And I'm afraid apologies won't suffice."

She would know, wouldn't she? She had been the one to patch up things between her husband and the major influences in Braavos who, without exception, had been greatly offended by him in his potion-induced rages.

Elia sighed, now fully awake as she sipped her tea. "What more can I offer?" she asked. "I need at least a year or two more to build my authority with lords and smallfolk alike. I cannot give them elevation without causing unrest."

"Elia, you must start with apologies, yes. But that's only the beginning. No matter how much you dislike it, it isn't about family and friends alone. It's about power, purse, and prestige." She paused. "If I were you, I would have discussed it with my husband. I did so with both of mine when they were still capable of being rational."

And when they had stopped being that, she had taken the burden on herself, until the very last moment her second husband had pulled the reins of power off her hands to force the wheelhouse into every pot-hole in the road, Elia supposed. Not that Lanore would ever admit to that.

She did discuss it with Arthur, indeed, as soon as they were alone for the night. He unlaced her gown and helped her put her nightgown on before removing his own clothing. As usual, he'd sleep in his smallclothes only.

"Have you talked to Arel?" Elia asked, brushing her hair out.

Arthur snorted. "When? He avoids me whenever he can. It isn't easy to enrage him but when you do, it's next to impossible to have him cool down. I was hoping you might have had some success with Alynna."

Elia shook her head. "Since our quarrel yesterday, she's giving me the cold shoulder. She's as furious and offended as he is. Maybe even more, because she's of my blood and feels personally insulted by me. She doesn't seem to hold you responsible."

"Well, that's a first," he murmured. "You do realize that we'll have to talk to them at some point, don't you?"

"And beg their forgiveness," Elia whispered. "Even if we do not use the words. The same with Larra and Lady Delonne. Lower ourselves before their eyes. Show our support over and over publicly, the way they always did for us."

Now she understood why her mother had kept bestowing honours and prizes over her supporters, chief among whom had been her uncle. Support was a road where the two sides had to meet in the middle. And Arianne had also been forced to support her favourites out of fear that without that, competing influences could do away with them.

"I hurt Alynna," she finally admitted. "I'm afraid I didn't think how she'd feel in all this. But it's so easy to hurt people by not thinking through, isn't it?"

"Probably." His voice sounded distant. "Elia…"

She looked at his reflection in the mirror. Something told her that she should rise and leave the conversation but his grip on her shoulders kept her where she was. Not that he kept her there by force. He didn't. But she couldn't rise, riveted by the intensity of his eyes into the mirrored image of hers.

"It _is_ easy," he said forcefully. "And that's what I did. I suppose I didn't see I'd hurt you because… well, I didn't want to think about it. I really couldn't see it. I tried to dissuade him but in my heart of hearts, I _wanted_ him to take the Stark girl. I thought… I thought that it might get you angry enough not to want anything to do with him anymore. That you'd return to the Dornish ways which acknowledge that a woman is just as entitled to desire as a man. I hoped that then, you'd look at _me_."

His meaning was perfectly clear. Elia stared in the mirror, stunned realization descending upon her features. "You thought that Rhaegar would tolerate such a thing?" she asked, utterly puzzled.

Arthur's breathing eased. At least she hadn't accused him in selfishness yet. "I know, I know it wasn't very likely," he admitted. "But at the time, I couldn't see why not. He didn't want you. And he would have dishonoured you in front of the entire realm. In his place, I would never…"

"Of course you would never," she sighed, things getting clearer now. "But you are a Dayne of Starfall, not a dragon prince. Rhaegar would have never let me have you, no matter that he didn't want me anymore."

"I know that now."

Elia waited for anger to appear, and yet it didn't. The old ache stirred within, along with morbid curiosity. "And you thought I'd just forgive your own part in this, despite not forgiving Rhaegar? Forgive you so absolutely that I'd take you to my bed? I thought you knew me better than that, Arthur!"

There was a brief flicker of insecurity in his mirrored eyes before he quickly cast them down. The hands on her shoulders started slumping down but Elia quickly reached up and held them in place.

"I didn't think about this at all," he admitted in a hollow voice. "I couldn't think past the point of the rift between you and Rhaegar. I was going mad, Elia. In the beginning, it wasn't so bad. But when I felt you were starting to get fond of him… That was sheer torture, I'm telling you. When he gave her that damned crown…" He felt her shoulders go rigid under his palms but plodded through. "When he gave her that damned crown, I wanted to kill him and yet inwardly, I cheered. I thought that you'd never take him back. That you'd have me instead. When I was told that I was to accompany them to that blasted tower, I tried to let him reconsider but I was hoping that he wouldn't. I… I think I convinced myself that you'd eventually forgive me because I wanted you to. And when we were there, I was told that he'd wed her and I realized just how badly I have miscalculated. With time, I regained your affection. Your love. But I lost the thing that I somehow never took into consideration. I lost your trust. And it doesn't seem as if I'm anywhere close to getting it back."

Of course, he hoped that she'd say it wasn't true. But she didn't. She was looking down, the tears she had contained for so many years out of bitterness, disappointment, and wounded trust slowly making their way into her lap. But her fingers kept pressing his hands against her shoulders and despite everything, hope rose anew.

* * *

><p>"<em>Look at her! I told you she didn't have a hand!"<em>

"_I didn't know the Martells welcomed mooncalves at their table. Do you think she has a septa? I don't think she'll have use of one. She can't even sew, after all." _

"_Do you think she can cut her own meat?"_

"_Don't be ridiculous, Maira, do you really think she can? Look at her! I saw Oberyn Martell cutting her meat for her. I suppose he feeds her like a baby as well. Do you know what? They say she's Maelys the Monstrous' own get."_

_The other girl gasped. "No!" she exclaimed, her eyes widened in surprised delight._

_At ten years of age, Naeryn was accustomed to being stared at and whispered about behind her back. Speculations didn't bother her this much already. They just went past her. But being insulted to her face, being talked about as if she lacked brains as well as a hand was something new. She was so stunned that the thought of retaliating never came to her mind. _Leave me alone, why are you mocking me,_ she thought as to her horror, tears sprang to her eyes. And to think how eagerly she had expected the court's arrival in Sunspear! She had not anticipated that it would bring people who need not bother hide their disgust as soon as they saw her without Elia or the others. Over her head, a seagull screeched, as if it, too, felt gleeful at seeing the girl who thought she could be as good as everyone else taught her place._

The shriek kept echoing in her head, breaking through the fog clogging her eyes, filling her ears without a hint of mercy, rising and ebbing but never quite going away, and Naeryn could hear the concerned voices around her, yet no one would chase the seagull away, even he who would not leave her side, although the bird must be tormenting him as acutely as it did her. Every muscle in her body hurt, the injuries that had healed so recently inflaming again, her head pounded, and her throat was pressed in a ring of fire that was tightening, tightening… A hand stroked his forehead but it wasn't a hand she knew. Still, it was soft and cool and it felt good, although she'd like it if she could ask about the person's name or at least look at their face but her eyelids were so, so heavy. When, from time to time, she managed to lift them from a moment, all she could see was black cloth above.

From time to time, they – whoever they were – tried to drip water in her mouth and she did her best to drink it but it looked like the drops evaporated as soon as they reached her burning throat. They brought only the tiniest bit of relief. But there was no relief from this shriek…

"Chase it away," she pleaded again and again but no one heard her. "Chase it away!" she insisted petulantly and at some point, someone reacted.

"What is it?" a voice asked, confused. "What should I chase away?"

"The seagull," Naeryn murmured through her ravaged throat and opened her eyes just in time to see a white bejeweled hand splitting the air. And then, blessed silence.

"Here," the woman said. "That's your seagull – just an insect. Is it better now?"

"Much better," Naeryn murmured, squinting at her in the semi-darkness. She recognized the silvery-white hair but it was not her mother. After a moment of intent staring, she recognized the Queen Mother.

"What happened?" she breathed. "Why are you here?"

"Do you want to have some water?" Rhaella asked.

"Yes," Naeryn whispered.

"There's no need to talk," Rhaella said. "I'll read your lips. Don't strain yourself."

The drops were wonderfully cooling and Naeryn tried to reach for the goblet herself but the Queen drew it back and anyway, it turned out that Naeryn couldn't lift her hands.

"No," Rhaella said. "The maester told me that you are not to drink too much. Only a few drops at a time. There…"

A memory emerged bright in the darkness enveloping Naeryn's mind. Maester after maester had taught her that very thing: only drops after… after… no, she lost it.

"Do you want something?" Rhaella asked, helping her lie down once again.

_Yes!_ Anders appeared in front of her as clearly as if he were in this chamber, with her, fussing over her as he was wont to. If he fretted so much over a simple bruising she got on her face after falling down, she'd hate it to see what he would do if, by a miracle, he could see her tormented by this ring of fire after…. After what? She didn't know. But she wanted to see him. He had been with her through those long days and nights, like a piece of her heart, a fragment of her soul, as ridiculous and defying belief as it was. Never before Naeryn – the woman who had embraced so many men – had been in love. She had been accustomed to conquests and flatteries, walking down prostrated bodies, heads bowed in disgraceful humiliation, broken hearts and pleas to stay without ever caring. Perhaps she deserved this punishment, falling in love with someone who also loved her, yet could never be hers. If he were a minor lord, at least! Instead, he was who he was. As much as she wanted him, she could never have him when she was awake. He retired slowly, reluctantly into the recesses of her mind, to return when she had lowered her guard.

"No."

"Some food?"

Naeryn shook her head barely noticeably. The very thought of eating made her gag.

The Queen sat down. "I'm so happy you're better," she said.

"What happened?" Naeryn asked. "Why are you here?"

She was acutely aware that the Queen Mother had no liking of her.

Rhaella shifted uncomfortably, considering the question. "You were hurt," she said. "And you are Aelinor's daughter. I couldn't let you without care."

_I don't need your care_, Naeryn thought. In fact, she was furious with her servants for having informed the Queen. Her illnesses were her own business, except when she was really so sick that she wouldn't reject some coddling. But not from this woman. She had long ago accepted that women did not like her. She hated them feigning care. "Thank you," she said.

Rhaella hesitated. "What happened?" she asked. "Who did this to you?"

Naeryn blinked. "Did what?"

"Your throat," Rhaella said. "When this sullen guard of yours drove them away, you were already at the Stranger's door. Who were they?"

Her throat? Naeryn tried to remember and her effort led to nothing. Her still fogged mind could not remember how the ring of fire had come to be… and then, with a sharp snapping of her head against the pillow, she did.

"No one," she whispered. "I… I don't know."

Rhaella believed her. Why wouldn't she? To Naeryn's relief, that meant that her attacker had not been caught. Abject tears stung her eyes. Gillerd… Why had he done it? What had prompted him into trying to strangle her? And how on earth did she still live?

Rhaella sighed. "We'll find him," she promised, to Naeryn's dismay. "Do you want me to write to your mother?" she asked. "Since the maester assured me that you were going to live, I didn't want to worry her before you regained your consciousness. I suppose she's so happy that I didn't have the heart to spoil it."

With renewed interest, Naeryn turned her head back to the Queen who smiled. "There were news from Storm's End," she said. "Six days ago, your sister bore Lord Baratheon a strong boy."

Naeryn relaxed, her tears running down, the smile lit her face and for a moment, they were not women who disliked and distrusted each other but women united by the relief of the Stranger defeated once again, the joy of new arrival.

Perhaps Rhaella was not feigning care. Perhaps she did care. For Aelinor's sake, not Naeryn. But it was something.

As soon as the Queen left, Naeryn ordered Sareen to bring Roderic in. The relief on his face when he saw her smile made her weep – she really had to do something about those tears. She had been all weepy in her sleep, weepy over Alaenys' babe, and now weepy over Roderic's happiness for her recovery. Even a close meeting with the Stranger could only excuse so much.

"Come here," she said when he stopped near the door, unsure of how to proceed.

Usually, he'd object that he had no business being in her very private chambers but this time, he crossed the room in two strides, not even noticing the muddy trail following his boots. He dropped to his knees at her bedside, taking the stump and pressing it against his lips.

"You saved my life," Naeryn murmured. "Thank you."

He laughed shakily. "It was about time we were even!"

For a while, they were silent. She motioned at him to pull a chair near the bed.

"What happened?" Roderic finally demanded. "It's an outrage that this woman is still allowed to stride around the castle as if she were queen when she set her hound onto you. Did you tell the Queen?"

Naeryn shook her head. "Melisandre wasn't there," she whispered. "And he's no hound. What happened?"

"I saw her in the yard, that's what happened," he replied. She noticed just how gaunt and anxious he had become since her almost-death. "But you didn't come out, despite not having found her upstairs, so I came to check." He shuddered. "You were hanging limply in his arms, your eyes closed and your face blue. I thought you were dead for sure. As we fought, you didn't even stir."

"Where did he go?" Naeryn demanded. "Is he all right?"

He gaped at her, outrage and indignation fighting for dominance with his concern over her health. "Is he all right? _Is he all right?_ Why should I care? Or you? My lady, he tried to kill you!"

"I know," Naeryn breathed, the ring of fire tightening its grip over her throat. "He wasn't himself. That was my cousin, Roderic, and I need to talk to him."

"You need to…"

Roderic's indignation reached a level that rendered him speechless, so Naeryn was quick to take advantage of it. "Yes. Immediately. As soon as you can find him. You can also be present, just in case. But I need to know what's going on. And don't harm him unless strictly necessary," she added and thought that he'd be sick right on the fresh rushes on her floor.

"If he's indeed your cousin," the man from the North murmured, "then he's a fiend, that's what's going on. And you have gone mad. But fine, I will find him for you. And I will stay here."

Naeryn was surprised by his quick surrender. He even rose to start working on the task immediately. But since it would take time until he found Gillerd, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep. She'd need every bit of strength she could muster.

It turned out that finding the fiend took no time at all, though. He found Roderic as soon as the older man set a foot out of the building.

"How is she?" Gillerd demanded, crossing Roderic's way.

The older man took his sword out. Gillerd didn't reach for his. "For the Mother's sake, man! Didn't you hear me? How is she?"

_I will not harm him. She told me not to. _Roderic glared at the dark-haired man. From this close, he was unmistakably his lady's cousin. His resemblance to his cousins Prince Oberyn and Alor Gargalen was uncanny.

"Better, despite your efforts," Roderic growled. _Give me a reason, boy. Give me a reason to harm you. A strictly necessary one. _

Gillerd almost slumped down in the mud, under the rain that had not stopped pouring down for two days straight. The relief written on his face was so blatant that Roderic could almost believe it. His hands were shaking as he was trying to move them.

"She can talk? She doesn't have trouble breathing?"

"Yes and yes," Roderic snapped. "By the gods, why am I explaining this to her failed assassin? You tried to kill her and don't tell me that you didn't!"

"I won't," Gillerd said, very softly. "But I don't want her to die. I never wanted that. Thank you."

Roderic gave him a look of disbelief and disgust at such duplicity. "You can say that to _her_," he retorted. "I was there, remember? I saw what you did. No matter what you tell her, I know what happened. Come on, now. She wants to see you. And don't forget, I'll be there."

Gillerd shook his head. He was still terribly pale, his mouth white, his eyes burning with insomnia. "I am not going there," he said. "And tell her that she must avoid me at all costs. Next time, we might not be this lucky and you might not intervene in time."


	8. Gathering Clouds

**Thanks for each and every review!**

Song of Darkness

_Gathering Clouds_

The girl rushed in as sun was casting its last, slanted rays in the semi-dark room. Alric looked at her silently, sternly without bothering to rise from his chair. She opened her mouth to start apologizing for being late but an accidental look at the hourglass stopped her in her tracks. Alric smiled, content, and they both watched as the last grains fell in the lower bowl. There was still things to be desired of Tyene Sand – apologizing before knowing for sure that you had something to apologize for placed one in a weaker position from the start and her eyes had fallen on the hourglass by chance, entirely – but her reactions were getting quicker.

"Good," he said. "Now, we start."

For all her golden innocence, Tyene approached the table as eagerly as Oberyn had, all those years ago. Once again, Alric reminded himself that he should be stern if he wanted to teach her properly. The Seven knew that he had had no such problems with her father!

The glass vials lay in the sandalwood box in front of him, small and opaque. Each morning, he checked whether the corks were still intact and steadily plugged in. Later, he'd have Tyene smell more of them at the same time but for now, there was no use of stuffing up her nose. And it was important to know that no one else had gotten to them either. One could never be too cautious. In this not too large box, there were enough vile ingredients to kill everyone in the Old Palace – and a good deal from the people in the shadow city as well.

Oberyn had told him that in the beginning, Tyene had used to close her eyes, insisting that it helped her focus better, but she had never done it during her lessons with Alric. He took a vial, opened it, and brought it to her nose. She sniffed but without inhaling. That was an instinct that they still needed to work over. She had to learn to breathe the substances in but not deeply enough as to let them pass all the way to her lungs. Not everything had a strong enough smell.

"Well?" he asked before she had the time to fully think, and in the brief moment he saw her face before she replied, he knew she'd be wrong.

"A perfume," she said.

Alric shook his head. "It isn't. You let the lavender lull you to false security because you love it."

"Ah." Her face fell. "Give me another try."

Alric's hand hovered over the box, uncertain of what to choose. Poison or perfume?

"I didn't have enough time," Tyene said softly, playing the game of innocence that had such a good effect on other people. Not on him, though, and she knew it. He just enjoyed it and he loved to indulge her.

"You did," Alric retorted and her eyes widened. Couldn't she understand that this was no time to play on his soft strings? "I thought you wanted to learn to recognize all poisons, not only the ones you'd use one day. And in critical situations, you'll have less than a minute to recognize the poison and save the victim."

In the far end of the room Mikkel stirred. Alric looked at him. For a split second, his brother held his gaze before looking away. He wanted to tell Alric that he was going too far. Alric shook his head, realizing just how irritable he had become. Why wouldn't Oberyn come back and resume taking care of Tyene's lessons already, anyway?

"There wasn't almond in there," Tyene realized and her grandfather smiled. She had recognized the other reason for her mistake. Most of the common poisons did smell faintly of almond – but not all.

"So," she insisted. "My other try?"

Alric realized that he hadn't chosen the vial yet. Instead, he plugged the cork of the poison back in and closed the box. "We're done for today," he said.

"Done?" Tyene asked, as if she had not heard right. "Is that because I got the vial wrong? I'll pay more attention, I promise…"

"No," Alric said. "It's me. I'm tired. I need rest."

"But it's barely morning!"

"Still." Alric couldn't bear the disappointment in her eyes. "I'll be waiting for you in the morning. Or perhaps the day after tomorrow. I'll let you know."

Soon, he was alone with Mikkel.

"Did you have to do it?" Mikkel asked.

Alric didn't look at him. "I'm going out," he said.

"You're making a mistake." Mikkel paused. "You'd better stop your lessons with her for a while until… until it's over."

"Until _what_ is over?"

"You know what."

"Indeed I do not!"

Mikkel shook his head. There was no point of arguing with Alric when he was like this. He'd never admit to what they both knew gnawed at him. "I think you should stay in the palace," he said. "You do need some rest. And some food as well!"

Tyene was now crossing the garden. Alric watched her from the window. Her hair gleamed like a golden waterfall about her, the sun turning droplets into sparkling flames. How often he had watched it do the same to Loreza's hair?

"What does her mother look like?" he heard Arianne's voice as he had so many years ago while they had watched the wet nurse walking around the garden, the golden-haired babe in her arms.

"Oh she's dark-haired and blue-eyed," he had replied nonchalantly. "Loreza takes after her grandmother."

It would be many years until he wondered why she had asked this. Usually, she had no interest in the women he took to his bed while they were apart.

_I didn't know. I didn't realize. _Now, he did. Arianne had been alarmed by his bastard daughter's very looks. She knew that Alric was not attracted to fair hair and she must have thought that he had found something _else_ in the child's mother. That he had liked her for something that had made him forget about his usual preferences. Had Arianne always harboured such thoughts, the fear that he might become attracted to another woman on more than physical level?

_Well, it doesn't matter now, does it? She's dead. They both are._ The anniversary of the start of the worst nightmare in Alric's life was drawing near. Somehow, all the way through Arianne's illness, he had not quite believed that he'd lose her. He certainly hadn't imagined that Loreza would die only a few short months after. And that had been only the beginning! Even Aegon's birth, the only light between the deaths of the two women so dear to Alric had been followed by… well, everyone knew the story, didn't they?

"Leave me alone," he spat. "I am going out. And don't dare sending anyone trailing me, Mikkel! I give no guarantee as to the state they will return in."

* * *

><p>Arel Dayne startled and woke up, his heart beating. Beside him, Alynna stirred and in the moonlight, he saw her eyes, wide but heavy with sleep. "Were you dreaming?" she asked drowsily. "Do you want something? Some water, perhaps?"<p>

She was already on her way to rising when he stopped her. "No," he said. "Go back to sleep."

She snuggled close. "You're so cold," she whispered. "Are you sure you're feeling fine?"

"Yes," he said truthfully – and not quite. He could not tell her what he had been dreaming about. She had barely started to recover from the shocking meeting with her first husband's ghost, or shadow, or something.

His heart started beating more slowly; reassured, Alynna went back to sleep. He kept holding her but his mind raced back to what he had heard in his dream. A voice full of worry, a voice he had recognized. "Arel," Errol had only said, but in this way of his that clearly stated an expectation that Arel would do something. What was it? Purple eyes had aimed at him a long, unswerving, piercing look. Fear, plea, reproach – and what else?

Arel tried to go back to sleep but his friend's look would not give him peace. What had Errol wanted to tell him? Arel had dreamed of him before but never like this. Perhaps it was because Prince Aegon's birthday was near – and with it, the beginning of the end of Errol's life. Experience had proved that Errol did not take being dead all that well!

Or was there something else?

With a silent curse, he disentangled from Alynna's arms. The fact that the careful maneuvering included brushing even closer against her which led to certain sensation in his lower parts just made him more miserable. As recovered as Alynna looked, there had been months since the last time they had made love and he definitely missed it. But for now, cold baths had to do the trick when situation got… particularly out of hand.

He had decided to have a walk down the corridors of the parts of the Old Palace that he could gain entrance into and then perhaps the courtyards. Maybe that would calm this anxiety that he couldn't chase off.

* * *

><p>Elia was dreaming of a storm unleashing all over Sunspear, the sea roaring and flooding the seashore, and her mother trying not to cry as she stared in the direction of the seaside road her father had earlier disappeared down. "He won't come back," the servants murmured, "if he lives through the storm at all." She wanted to have them scolded, punished, but the thought that they might know more about the storm than she did paralyzed her, rendered her numb with horror. Never had she seen such a flood before. Perhaps they would all drown?<p>

"But there will be more," a child's voice said though the falling rain. Aenar, her aunt youngest son. His hair shone silver and he was no older than her but his eyes had the gleam of knowledge. "Twenty years later, as I am being born, there would be such a storm once again…"

The heavy fall of the raindrops drowned his voice. Elia woke up, her heart racing. But even awake, she could still hear the raindrops. They were no raindrops at all. Swiftly, she rose and grabbed a shawl to wrap it around her shoulders, then headed for the door before the knocking could wake Arthur up. Since his admission from two days ago, there was still some awkwardness between them. The long conversations, the return to the past weren't doing their health a favour. Let him sleep.

"Yes, Saranda?" she asked.

Her maid looked down. "I am sorry for disturbing you, my Princess, but Lord Alric's servant is here and says it's urgent."

At this time of night? Dawn was nowhere near. The only light in the antechamber came from the candle Saranda was holding. Suddenly, Elia was all awake.

"Let him in."

The man entered immediately. Valdar, one of those who had been with Alric since Elia was a little girl. She opened her mouth and…

"Something has happened to my lord," he said without beating around the bush. The fear and concern in his voice were unmistakeable and immediately affected Elia as well.

"What do you mean?" she asked sharply, terror forming a lump in her throat.

"I cannot wake him up. Tonight, I brought him his supper because he had said he wouldn't go to the great hall and he was sleeping. I didn't wake him up. But a while ago, Lord Dayne insisted that he'd be allowed to enter and I let him in. We've been trying to wake my lord without success for a long time and we cannot. I think he's unconscious. And it isn't just sleeping a hangover off. I've seen him doing this. He's breathing but he looks…" His voice caught.

"By the gods," Elia whispered and whirled about. "Wake my husband immediately," she told Saranda. "Send him to my father's chambers. Has Maester Caleotte been summoned?" The question was addressed at Valdar. He nodded. "Let's go."

Somehow, the halls of the palace now looked longer than when she had been trying not to faint on her way to her first meeting with her councilors after the twins' birth. And the first thing that she saw in the bedchamber – other than her father's white face – was the goblet that Arel was inspecting. As soon as she reached for it, he stopped her hand. "Viper wine," he said simply and then caught her as the floor shifted before her feet.

* * *

><p>At night, even the walls of Dragonstone gave out dampness. Rhaella's attendants were not happy with it. However, she had no problems. To her great surprise, the place had turned out to be a place she actually felt comfortable living in. It gave her vigour and peace of mind that had come completely out of the blue. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that when she had visited the island as a child, she had always felt her parents' reluctance to be here – the dreary climate and constant mists could not be worse for her father's frail health. But she was robust and still not too old. A little dampness could not sink her spirits. Lately, she had taken to waking up at sunrise to make plans of renewals both here and in the village, of her day and little court… Really, life was better than she had expected.<p>

She still had no idea what to do about Aelinor's girl and the red priestess, though. She was sure that Melisandre of Asshai had something to do with the assault of Naeryn but the girl denied it. Why she would do such a thing was beyond Rhaella's wildest fantasy. And even if she was telling the truth – which she wasn't – that left Rhaella with the certainty of having someone close who was dangerous. Daenerys and Aegon were well protected but still… And soon, the entire court would sweep in.

"Aren't you pleased, Aegon?" she asked when the children came to wake her up. She would not rise before they did so. It was their tradition. "The whole court will make its way here just to celebrate your nameday."

He nodded eagerly. "When are they arriving?"

"In about a month," she said. "It'll be a grand occasion. A king hadn't set a foot at Dragonstone since my grandfather's times."

Aegon and Daenerys started giggling. It was impossible for them to imagine Rhaella like a little girl. A girl with a grandfather.

"And when is my mother arriving?" the boy asked.

Rhaella's smile died. "She… she cannot come, Aegon," she said carefully.

"But I want her to come," he insisted.

"I know. I also want her to come. But she truly cannot."

All of a sudden, a thought descended upon her. "Aegon, did you think your mother was coming to live here?"

"Yes," he whispered and nodded, trying not to cry. "She might not like it in Sunspear. It's nice there but she might not like it. She might like Dragonstone better."

All of them, from Elia to Rhaella, had done a great job explaining the situation to him, no doubt!

"I am sorry, Aegon, but your mother isn't coming to live here. You'll still see her. She might even visit here. You'll go to her in Sunspear," she added, hoping that she wasn't lying. "But you won't live with her. Never."

His scream pierced her in an almost physical way. At this moment, she hated her decision to come here, to try and be a mother to him. She might be doing her best but she was just his grandmother. He might need her but she'd always be a second best. It was Elia that he wanted and needed.

As he whirled about and fled from her bedchamber, Jaime Lannister hurrying after him as soon as he ran through the antechamber, Rhaella sighed, drew the stunned Daenerys near, and prepared for her first bad day at Dragonstone since their arrival.


End file.
